#man i wonder what happened but *s a hard shell to crack…….. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tastyykpop · 4 years ago

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𝑆𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛-Final

Pairings: jaemin x reader

Genre: smut, fluff (mostly at the end but it's short 🤠)

Warnings: dom!jaemin, brat!reader, brat taming, punishment, overstimulation, edging, face slapping (literally slaps her once), choking (wOw iM sO sHocKeD), hair grabbing, degradation, jaemins gets angrier throughout the story, fingering, finger sucking, praising, unprotected sex, soft sex, y/ns pretty dumb but I think we knew that by now, once again jaemin calls himself nana because shut up

Tag list: @ahgastayzen @allykookiez @wooyugta @dreamlesswonder86 @taetaeismy @nanaysa @patchi-chi @simplicitysbabe @sweetjaemss @huangvibez @kaitherring @xxjaemchenct

It was obvious how tense and awkward jaemin was the entire time you stayed at his house, which lasted longer than you thought. You stayed for two days, per jaemins request, and you thought what if he's finally angry and decides to break. No, it was the complete and utter opposite. Jaemin was sweet, something you've barely seen when he used to bully or make fun of you before all this happened. He made sure you were okay staying with him another night and took care of you when you weren't hungover.

Did anything special happen though? Nope, just you and jaemin cuddling every so often while binge watching Netflix shows while he sometimes cracked jokes here and there.

It was definitely a sight to see. Even made you wonder if this is what its like to date him.

"Nana," you spoke, jaemin lifting his head off your shoulders to give you his attention, "Get up, we need to go to school."

Jaemin groaned, putting his head down on your pillow like chest and began, "Can't we just skip school?" He whined, "Maybe play a bit too?" Jaemin lifted his chin up, placing it on top of your breasts as he pouted, waiting for you to give into his cuteness.

Wouldn't that be nice- but you weren't going to miss school to mess around with jaemin. No way. You weren't even his girlfriend yet and you were sure his little play thing, seulgi, wouldn't be too happy, shes been calling him since he brought you here.

"No." You grabbed him by his hair and peeled him off your body. Jaemin wasn't very amused by the action.

"Oh i get it." He mumbled, "You want to see jeno, right?"

The question caught you off guard. But jaemin being jealous wasn't unknown to you anymore. He was possessive, that much you knew, and he always found a way to guilt trip you about it.

"I mean, we have been talking a lot more so a lil bit." You smiled, earning an eye roll from jaemin as he got up with nothing else to say and stalked his closet for something to wear. You glanced at your clothes which were actually his. And since you never went back to your apartment to get another outfit, you had to wear what you wore at the party.

Eyes stared into your bare back after you threw off the shirt that covered your body. They lingered, but didn't settle on staying until you slipped the bralette on.

Jaemin was going to comment about it, yet kept his mouth shut because there was no use saying he could give you a t-shirt instead, youd just complain about how it didn't match.

But the skirt was a different story. It was a party skirt, something way too short for school. No wonder jeno liked it. And to be honest, jaemin didn't hate it himself, he'd just rather not have people like jeno staring at you and your thighs. You were his. At least in his head you were.

"Fuck!" You screamed, "My bags at home." Softening your voice, jaemin just about wanted to smack you for scaring the shit out of him. He actually thanked the heavens your bag wasn't here, it gave you a reason to change.

"Let's go to your place quickly before school starts." Jaemin grabbed his things and you nodded, following behind him almost speed walking because of how long his strides were. "And change when we get there too."

You looked down at your fit and hummed, stepping into the car ready for jaemin to go.

"I don't think I can handle trig anymore." You bit your lip at the paper in hand. Jaemin looked down over your shoulder and almost scoffed. It was the homework due today, of course it was also one of the hardest pages the professor had given the class too, making it ten times harder for you to finish.

"If you had come over these past few nights, you wouldn't be so stressed." Jaemin shrugged.

It was like you knew he would say that with the way you rolled your eyes and crumpled the paper up, "Im actually thinking of dropping that class." You stated.

"Dont." He rested a hand on your shoulder, "Come over later and I'll help you." It wasn't even a question, in fact it was him telling you to do something. Its clear jaemins had enough of you ignoring him and hes also fed up with your complaining. Even wondered why you held out this long.

"But-"

"I'm not taking no for an answer anymore." Jaemin stated sternly as he sighed, stopping in front of your classroom and put his hands in his pocket. "Stop trying to ignore me," he leaned forward, just inches away from your face, "its not working."

"Just because you think its not working doesn't mean its not working...." You tilted your head to the side questioning your own words, "Anyway, you're jealous." Crossing your arms and leaning against the wall, your ego fed off of jaemins glaring eyes.

"Bullshit," jaemin tsked, "why would I be jealous?"

You smirked despite knowing you were playing a dangerous game with him. And jaemins good at playing games, he's done it to you for years.

You took a step forward, ultimately getting closer to his still leaned over figure and said, "You kept staring at jeno and I at the cafe and you had an attitude the entire time. Its obvious you know." Slithering a hand up his cheek, you pinched his smooth skin, "Nanas jealous."

It was an understatement to say jaemin didn't feel shivers go up his spine from your low voice. For once jaemin didn't have anything to come up with. Nothing crossed his mind to tell you that what you saw of him wasn't him being jealous, but that would be the dumbest of lies.

"Quiet for once? That's a first." You snickered at the small shade of red on his cheeks. It was either anger or him actually getting flustered. Either way you still claimed victory for keeping him surprisingly quiet.

Jaemin pulled your hand away from his face and opened his mouth, "Admit that you're purposely doing it then. There's no way you and jeno are magically good friends now. You hate him just as much as you hated me."

"Im not purposely making you jealous," you lied, "And I never hated jeno, just strongly disliked him for being friends with you."

The older almost laughed in your face from how stupid your lie was. "If you want my attention, say it." He smirked, proceeding to push you against the wall behind you without a second thought making you uncross your arms, "Its not hard y/n."

His hands trailed down to your waist, intensly watching your face as you looked around him, afraid that what he'd do will go too far and some students will see a not so innocent sight.

"Youre full of yourself." You inhaled sharply as he leaned forward ever so closely, just barely brushing his lips over yours.

"And you'll be full of nana soon." Jaemin almost closed the space between you with his lips, but someone stopped him.

"Jaemin!!!" Seulgi came running up to jaemin in her cute high heeled shoes. Her hair bouncing perfectly against her back as she pulled him away from you and into a hug, not before she planted a kiss to his lips as if you weren't standing right there, "I haven't seen you in so long, babe. You didn't call." She pouted with more puppy eyes than normal.

You missed the way jaemin growled at her, almost throwing seulgi off him since you were so focused on them kissing. Never did you think you'd witness it either. Something about it made your stomach churn and you couldnt bare stand there for long before walking away, taking zero notice of the way jaemin called out for you.

"Let's get some coffee before the bell rings." Seulgi pulled jaemin, but his eyes still lingered on the door you entered.

You couldnt stop your mind from racing in class. It was like your mind was playing games on you, telling you that jaemin wasn't in the slightest interested in you and thats why he never answered you, because he was too embarrassed to be seen with someone like you.

But that was only you overthinking.

Obviously jaemin cared for you, he wouldnt have let you stay over his house, tutored you, or be possessive when it came to you. So why did he kiss her back? In front of you too? Was he actually dating her for real?

These questions ran through your head, giving you a mini headache from thinking too hard about it.

It was like you were in high school all over again where everything was dramatic for no reason, well in some aspects you made it this way, but your point still stands.

"Y/n," someone tapped the table repeatedly, bringing you back to reality, "Class is over." jeno looked at you with suspicion but brushed it off thinking you were probably tired.

You glanced around the empty room before looking back at jeno, "Oh...yeah."

"Well uh," he scratched the back of his head, "You should probably get to your next class."

That's the last thing you wanted to do. Jaemin would be there and so was one of seulgis minions that always kept an eye out for anything he did. As annoying as it was, you weren't surprised anymore.

"Im gonna skip."

Jeno grimaced as you stood up and grabbed your things, walking towards the rooms exit as he followed close behind, "You? Skip? What the fuck??"

You stopped in your tracks, jeno almost bumbing into you in the process, "Do I need to spell it out for you or something? S-k-"

"No shut up. Its just shocking that your skipping." Jeno half grinned at the way you stared at him stoically.

"What are you getting at?"

The man before you chuckled, "Im saying youre a goody two shoes and you've never done a bad thing in your life."

You can't say he was wrong, but you also have to admit that you have stepped out of your shell recently and maybe for the better.

"Everyone changes some time in their lives." You pointed out, strolling out of the class to nowhere specific. "Better run to class jeno, dont want the teacher calling you put again."

"Yeah yeah." He eye smiled, giving you a quick pat on the back before saying bye and walking to his class.

You couldnt help but smile at him as he moved further and further away. You had to admit, jeno wasn't as bad as you thought. Not anymore anyway. But as jeno soon disappeared around a corner, you sighed and sauntered to the library where you were going to do your work until class ended.

Students were scattered everywhere in the library, some typing away at their laptops or school computers while others had papers and books sprawled out in front of them. Unfortunately for you, you were going to be the ones with almost any school supply in front of them. And with a sigh and slouched shoulders, you sat at an empty desk near the front of the library, taking your homework out as well as some books.

Normally it wouldn't be a problem for you to focus, but it was stressful with so many things laid out for you. Face palming and groaning quietly at your trig paper, you attempted the first problem which honestly didn't seem too bad, but you weren't always so sure of yourself when doing these kinds of things. Mostly because you second guessed yourself making you pick the wrong answer when you were originally right.

"This is so fucking stupid." You threw your head into your hands, giving up on trying since it was useless anyway. You needed jaemin. He was the only reason you started getting some good grades on your work.

"Whats stupid?"

Speak of the devil.

"The trig home- wait why aren't you in class?" You gazed at him before averting your eyes, not trying to let them linger too long.

Jaemin pulled a chair out and sat closely beside you, raising a brow as you inched away from him. "I could ask you the same thing." He tipped the chair back a little, keeping his eyes locked on the side of your stoic face.

"Im doing something if you can't tell." You snapped, instantly regretting the way your voice raised once you noticed jaemin clenching his jaw out the corner of your eye. But you couldnt help it, you were still frustrated, embarrassed, and jealous from earlier.

"Whats wrong?" Jaemin calmed himself, not wanting to blow up at you.

"Nothing." You ignored his eyes that watched you do out the problem. Probably silently telling you that it was all wrong but you weren't trying to pay attention to him.

"Youre doing it again."

"Doing what? I'm just trying to do my work." After writing your answer down, you checked over tbe work before you smiled to yourself. This had to be the right answer.

"Stop playing dumb." he grabbed your chin, "You know what you're doing."

Wiggling out of his grasp was no use, jaemin managed to move his hand to your jaw to keep you still.

You winced at the sudden squeeze, "I dont know what you're talking about."

Jaemin had enough of this bullshit, now grabbing your neck instead. Your eyes wondered the room hoping no one was paying attention, "Im not playing games with you. Why are you ignoring me again?"

"That's a good question." You looked away and though jaemims grip was starting to hurt more each second, you still found a way to show your disinterest.

Jaemin sighed, letting his hand drop and you inhaled deeply without a second thought. "Whats wrong then?"

"I told you its nothing."

"Bullshit." Jaemin took the pencil out of your hand just as you were about to write, your hand flying up to try and take it back but he pulled away.

"You really wanna know then?" You asked sharply to which jaemin nodded, "You kissed seulgi. Happy now?"

Jaemins mouth fell at your confession. Yes he figured that upset you a bit, but he never thought it was enough for you to ignore him.

"I never even went that far with jeno."

"Never went that far, huh?" He snapped back, shaking his head in disbelief as his face once again was steaming with anger. "Need i remind you how you made out with him at the party. Or were you that wasted and cant remember?"

The new found anger overlapped the previous one with more than just anger, but annoyance. There was no way jaemin was telling the truth, you would never kiss jeno.

"No i didnt."

"Dont tell me you didn't, I fucking saw it." His hand found its way on the table creating a loud bam that startled not only you, but a few kids that even lifted their heads to see what caused the noise. "You were the first one to go that far, so blame yourself before you blame me."

Taking a deep breath, you had to calm down before you said something you'd regret. Knowing jaemin too, you already had something waiting for you at his house.

"I believe you." Jaemin was ready to open his mouth but you were quick and responded, "because i remember." The problem with this answer was because it was untruthful. You already dug yourself a whole from the beginning yet you knew what you were getting yourself into. There was something about playing with jaemins anger that made you go wild.

Determined with your lie, you kept the straightest face like it was proof you recalled that night. Jaemin too was focused only on your face, his hand balling into a fist ever so slowly.

"I remember....he was a really good kisser," you whispered, "And you looked so mad." Snickering away at your words, you placed a hand on jaemins lap and watched his expression go from anger to almost frothing at the mouth.

Bingo. He was too far gone to see through you at this point and this is where you smirked to yourself.

"You're unbelievable." He scoffed, rolling his eyes thinking about how fed up he was, "Lets go."

Despite being told what to do, you sat looking between jaemin and your sprawled out homework. "I have things to do."

Jaemin literally shoved all your papers into your bag, not caring how they crumpled in the small space as you complained and swatted at his arm. Of course though, jaemin payed no mind to it, grabbing your hand and bag before dragging you out of the library.

You fought and struggled to get out of his grip. From the start you knew what you were getting into, that's why you did what you did. Now being dragged to his house it dawned on you that it was time to suffer whatever he had in mind.

"When we get to my house," jaemin locked his eyes with yours as he led you to his car, "We'll study trig, and depending on my mood and your attitude after, I might go easy with the punishment later."

"Im not going over to study and then be punished afterwards." Your voice faltered as you saw a familiar someone walking towards you and jaemin.

Jenos eyes lit up sadistically, smiling at you, telling you to smile back for one reason: to set jaemin off.

You did without hesitation, jaemins hold getting tighter and tighter as he glared at his best friend who walked by, holding the proudest grin on his face.

Once at the car, jaemin shoved you inside the passenger seat, slamming the door before he situated himself in the drivers side. Your eyes watched in annoyance yet you were intrigued. Maybe because you haven't had any action with jaemin since about a week ago.

Resting your head against the headrest, you stared outside the window. There wasn't any way you could hold another conversation with the man, it would only drive your hormones insane.

Its been thirty minutes and to say you were paying attention would be the stupidest thing ever. every word that jaemin said went in one ear and out the other. Some part of you was purposely choosing to ignore him, but your attention span was almost non existent in the first place. So listening to jaemin talk about trigonometry was only boring you.

You tapped out, playing with your pencil or doodling on the paper. Each time you weren't paying attention, jaemin would ask you to write down the answer or a land a slap right on your thigh. It stung and made up jump with shock in your eyes as jaemin told you the same thing each time: "pay attention." But did you? God no. It was impossible. With the thought of a punishment too, it made your mind run like it was in a marathon.

"Little girl," jaemins voice once again brought you back to reality, "what did nana just say?" You shrugged your shoulders slightly, keeping your head down like you were shy yet you were far from it, holding a small grin on your innocent face.

"I dont know, nor do I care." You finally looked up. Jaemin was none too happy, letting his chest fall.

Shaking his head, he said once more to listen and pay attention.

Jaemin took your pencil so he could write out the problem for you, deciding to be nice even though you weren't returning it. You watched the way his pretty hands flexed with every number or letter he wrote. The subtle veins showing every so often too made you almost drool at the sight. Oh what you would do to have him wrap his hands around your neck again.

"Solve it." Jaemin threw the pencil down in front of you, resting his head in his hand to watch you. But you didn't move, not even a simple budge.

"No."

"Y/n its not that fucking hard, just solve it."

You glanced at the paper then the pencil that laid on the table before grabbing it and snapping it in half.

"Im not doing it." You faked a smile, ready for jaemin to snap just like the pencil.

"You need to pass this class, y/n. Stop messing around and pay attention."

You shot up from your seat, "I. Dont. Care. I'm going home."

It wasn't long before he suddenly stood up too, grabbing you by the hair and threw you on his bed, "Okay you wanna act up?" He hovered over you, pinning your arms down on the soft bed as he straddled your lower half. "I dont get why you continue to act like a brat when you know you're going to be punished. Unless you want it?" Jaemins face was merely inches in front of yours not until you blew into his face and smirked when he flinched and pulled away.

"Ever wonder why I act this way? Your easy to push, I can get in your head and make you get mad so I get exactly what I want." You snickered, "Not to mention its to make you suffer for not answering my question." A hand was placed on his covered chest, rubbing small circles on the fabric of the shirt.

Suddenly, jaemin laughed. Though, it wasn't a joyful one. It was more sadistic and filled with amusement, "How is it making me suffer if you're the one about to be punished?"

"Cuz i still get what I want in the end."

"My dick or my attention?"

"Both."

Jaemnn chuckled dryly, quickly sitting back and tearing your clothes off without a second thought.

You were ready to protest about your clothes until jaemin took matters in his own hands and shoved his fingers nearly down your throat to shut you up.

"Im tired of your voice." He spat, "All you talk is shit."

Whimpering around his fingers, you tried anything in your power to try and pry them out. He never moved back, sticking his fingers deeper and deeper until he heard you gag and whine the best you could. Your throat felt so tight and it was getting harder to breathe. Jaemin didn't care, deciding to just fuck your mouth with his fingers as he started pulling your pants and panties down, lifting his hips up so he can take them off all the way.

"It would be so much nicer if you weren't a brat you know." Jaemin began, easily shoving two fingers inside your dripping cunt, "Nana could've stuffed you full of his cock, made love to you, and made you happy. Instead," his fingers that were buried in your heat, curled and pushed in a certain way that made your eyes roll, "You wanted to be a little bitch."

You drew out a long hum, the pleasure felt so good after pushing jaemin for so long. All his anger was going to this one punishment and you should've felt scared, but you weren't. You were excited and loved every bit of it.

The way he fingered you was almost too surreal. It made your body crumple against his will and he wasn't even fucking you yet.

It was getting harder to breathe being filled by his two fingers. Just barely becoming too overwhelming so you tapped his hand to signal you needed to breathe. Jaemin took his hand out, watching your face to make sure you were okay as you gasped for air.

"Are y-you try-trying to kill me or s-something?" You moaned at one particular hard thrust that made your breath hitch.

"Oh shut up, I know you liked it. Probably imagined my cock down your throat." He bit his lip, taking in the thought of what you would look like on your knees for him before shaking it off.

"I-i was n-not."

Jaemin smirked devishly, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out more, but you kept clenching around him. Your hand grabbed his wrists in a death grip, moans fell from your open mouth and jaemin ate that all up. Loving how your body shook, knowing you were so close.

Right when you felt your orgasm coming, jaemin ripped his fingers out of you, essentially letting your juices flow out. But you didn't cum, no you were just that wet.

Your hips lifted up like you would get friction but there was nothing to get friction from, you looked dumb and pathetic.

"Not fair..." you mumbled, frowning at the annoying smirk on jaemins face.

"Punishments aren't supposed to be fair," he said a matter of factly, pushing your hips back down on your bed as he grazed his fingers over your wetness before pushing back in again.

This time setting a ruthless pace, taking in your fucked out expression.

"Jaemin- please im s-so close." Fidgeting and clawing at his wrists, the orgasm built back up. It got closer, closer, closer. Right there, it was right there, but jaemin took it away from you again.

"God, I love this way more than I should. Breaking a brat is so much fun." His fingers dripped with your arousal. He stared at the strand connecting his fingers. It was so much and so lewd, it should've been embarrassing to you yet it made him want more from you. "How many times should nana edge his pretty girl? Maybe-"

"Fuck you." You cried, ready to take this into your own hands and finish yourself off.

Jaemins hand made a perfect necklace on your neck, tightening his grip on the sides so you felt all his anger, "Thats the last thing I would say if I were you."

"W-what are y-you gonna do? Spank me?" Thinking he actually would if you said that, you were slapped across the face, eyes not staring at jaemin anymore but the wall next to the bed.

"Dont test me anymore, your already in for it." He growled into your ear. Leaving his hand wrapped around your neck, he slipped back inside, this time fucking his fingers into you at an antagonizing slow pace.

You wanted to scream and push him away for being a tease, but you reminded yourself that this is what you wanted, this was what you'll get. You had no idea how long this pain will continue though. All you could think about was cumming. In fact, that was the only thing on your mind as he fingered your tight pussy. The pain of not being able to orgasm was so unbearable, it just about made your eyes tear up. Were you that desperate that you'd cry over it?

"I wanna...c-cum so bad..."

The man above you stared at you in disbelief. He basically just started and you were already a mess.

"You really want to cum that badly?" You nodded hastily, tears at the brink of falling, you couldnt hold it in anymore, "Then apologize for all the shit you put us through. Starting with you ignoring me, fake dating jeno, and purposely pissing me off for the hell of it." Jaemin said with his whole chest. Being able to say it out loud reminded him of everything. From the time you started this crap, to now.

"I-im sorry- I'm so f-fucking sorry, jaemin." You forced yourself to look into his eyes, his angry red eyes that tore into your soul to find any lie, yet you had none. You meant what you said with full honesty, "Please nana, l-let me cum."

Jaemin simply gave you a nod and thats when you let everything out. You came all over his fingers but jaemin didn't stop nor slow down. He kept the same rough pace as before and you could only scream and cry from the sensitivity.

Then jaemin started rubbing and pinching your sensitive clit before giving your cunt a slap that made you jolt and cry out.

"Ahh- w-wait jae-mmm....s-so sensitive."

Jaemin rolled his eyes, "thought you wanted to cum? I'm giving you what you want, babe."

Your legs closed around his fingers though it didn't stop him from curling and fucking them inside. He could just easily push them open yet he found your sensitivity amusing which led you to cum again without warning.

"What a pathetic little fucking brat you are." He gathered the white substance that leaked from your clentching hole and shoved it back in, "Making such a mess of yourself."

Your back arched, even more sensitive than before.

The hand on your neck moved down to your breast, squeezing at your nipples and playing with everything he could get his hand on. Your nipples were so sensitive that that alone could make you cry and moan just from a simple touch.

His fingers brushed against your sweet spot where you screamed his name. Being over sensitive made everything feel more pleasurable and painful. Every small touch on your pussy brought you to a shaking pleasure that you couldnt control. It was becoming too much and too overwhelming.

"Fuck, are you gonna cum again? It hasn't even been five minutes." He watched, eyes filled with amazement as you shook and once again, came on his sheets and fingers.

Your shaking didn't stop though, it was like the kind of shake you get when your cold, though you were far from it. The intensity of this orgasm was just too much where even jaemin had to pull his fingers out and let you breathe for a moment.

"You okay, baby?" He asked quietly, kissing your temple as you nodded your head, "Can you give nana one more then?" Not wanting to stop, you nodded without a thought causing jaemin to smile and lean back.

Jaemin finally got rid of his clothing, crawling back on the bed before giving you a kiss so you wouldn't notice how he slipped his cock inside.

Surprisingly jaemin took his time pushing in, savoring your sweet little moans that drove him crazy. He started and kept a slow pace that made the overwhelming feeling dissolve away. Now you were wrapping your legs around his waist and staring into the soft eyes of jaemins that were just red a second ago.

Every vein against your walls made you feel ecstasy. Jaemin was careful with each thrust and it felt like pure love. They were passionate and he didn't fail to show it.

"Taking nanas cock so well, just like the good girl you are." Jaemin smiled at your beautiful face that contorted into pleasure. Both of your moans filled the room. More cuss words were thrown from you like it was the only thing in your dictionary.

The lewd sounds of your bodys bounced off the walls as jaemin fucked you slow and steady, grabbing your hips gently as he kissed all over your face, neck, and breasts. He sucked on your skin here and there, creating small bruises that looked like a tattoo as you grabbed the back of his head, lifting him up by the hair to bring his face to yours so you could place a kiss to his red lips.

The kiss was sloppy and slow. Neither of you cared though, both focused on your orgasms that kept coming closer.

Jaemins thrusts stuttered and his cock twitched inside you. The hand in jaemins hair pulled and messed up his locks, sure to create a messy sight later on.

" 'm gon-gonna cum." You moaned, lifting your hips up to meet his along the way.

"Cum, princess."

The final orgasm left your body feeling like it was on a cloud while all you saw were stars making jaemin coo at your fucked out face.

Pulling out, jaemin finished on your stomach before letting his body fall next to yours, wrapping an arm around your hips and pulling you into him..

You both panted out of tiredness, neither one bothering to move as you were both spent.

"Did I hurt you, princess? Are you feeling okay?"

You smiled into his chest, "no you didn't hurt me and I feel fine."

"Good." Jaemin smiled, petting your hair before laying his head on top of yours, "Wanna go on a date?"

You swear your heart stopped as your face heated up, "Jaemin, you're doing everything backwards."

"So is that a yes or no?"

"Of course its a yes!"

It was a peaceful restaurant that jaemin brought you to, saying it was supposed to be a place a lot of couples went to which you thought was absolutely sweet of him.

"So...uh." jaemin looked anywhere but your face like he didn't just have sex with you for the second time.

You snickered and sipped the drink in your hand, "Why are you so awkward all of a sudden? Its just me."

"I know it's just- I feel like I can't say what I wanna say because I'm afraid." Jaemin sighed.

"Of what exactly?" You placed the drink down, watching as jaemin fumbled with the menu before he covered his mouth and mumbled something you coulsnt quite grasp, "What did you say?"

"...nothing."

"Jaemin."

His doe eyes stared into yours like it was some sort of contest, wanting you to look away first but you and he did, "Alright fine. I said I'm a bit nervous if I were to ask you out."

Tilting your head to the side, you puffed your cheeks out in confusion, "Why?"

"The last relationship I had, the girl cheated on me. Afterwards she said it was because i wasn't good enough." He frowned, returning his attention back to the menu where you presumed was his hiding place for the time being.

"Well she's a bitch and is missing out on an amazing person." You pushed the menu down, "Is that why you acted that way when you saw jeno and I at the cafe? Did you think I thought you weren't good enough?"

Jaemin nodded slowly, "Kind of. I didn't want to lose someone I loved again."

"Loved? Na jaemin-"

"Dont say it." He groaned.

"You've gotten soft! Does this mean what I think it means?" You quirked a suggestive brow at him causing him to put his head in his hand.

"Yes, ill be your boyfriend." He said in his hand before you took it away and grabbed his face to kiss him. "I- princess when did you become do confident?"

"When did you become so shy?"

"Fair point."

Everything felt right all of a sudden. No more of jaemin being your bully. No more coffee being poured on your head. No more stupid high school drama that wasn't even drama in the first place. It was all right for once. And you couldnt say you could complain. After weeks, you got what you struggled to have before; na jaemin.

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speechlessxx · 4 years ago

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Bring Him Light - xii (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: While Lord Rumlow is being tortured, his fellow disgraced comrade is found in another kingdom’s port.

Warnings: underwhelming filler chapter, descriptions of torture,

Word Count: 2.3k

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The musical clattering of the coins in the cloaked man’s pouch were muffled beneath the several hollered orders. York’s docks were packed to brim with several ships that brought in various goods for the young prince’s name day. From what the man could make out, the king and queen were determined to make this the best name day the young boy had ever experienced. He was surprised to find out, it would be the young man’s last.

He overheard one sailor planning to ship off. Good. He thought. Put as much distance between me and Brooken. The man stopped the sailor, hailing him over and flashing him the pouch of coins. “Where to, old man?” the young sailor asked. The cloaked man scoffed, not used to being addressed in such a manner.

“Far.” The cloaked man answered, swallowing his pride. He thought his life was more valuable than a status or a label. “Wherever you’d take me, boy.”

The young sailor stared into the pouch. The coins shimmered under the hot sun’s rays. There were enough coins in the bag to help his aunt. He probably wouldn’t have to sail ever again. “I’m headed to the Old World, sir,” the young sailor explained. “I’m setting sail in a few hours or so.”

The older man grumbled a bit. He didn’t like the idea of staying in York for a few more hours. He remembered the advice he had told a young queen days before – the longer you wait, the slimmer the chances at escape became. But he was in no place to argue, and no other ship was leaving, so he agreed. “What’s your name, sir?” The young boy asked.

“Alex.”

As Anthony and his wife were busy with the name day arrangements, trumpets blared out a somber tune throughout the halls of Iron Tower. The king stopped midsentence, registering the meaning – a noble had died. An awful feeling bubbled in his chest as he began to think his son did not make it to his final name day.

Moments later, Ser James Rhodes pushed open the throne room doors. Anthony frowned when he saw the redhaired Natasha, who was supposed to be in Brooken at your side. It was her duty as one of your ladies in waiting.

“Your majesties,” Natasha bowed.

“What’s happened?” His wife asked with a similar confused frown that mirrored his own. “Is your queen with you?”

Natasha took a deep breath as she looked around the crowded throne room. All eyes bore into her, all wondering the same. They had all heard the low notes from the trumpet… Some had assumed it called for the death of their prince, but had Lady Natasha come to deliver the body of their princess, instead?

“No, your grace,” Natasha answered after long beats of silence. “My queen is safe in Brooken.” She wasn’t sure how true those words were, but after witnessing the pure desperation on King Steven’s face and voice as he tried to find you, she had a bit of hope.

“Then, why are you here?” Anthony asked the younger woman. “Why aren’t you with your queen?”

“She asked me to deliver the body of …” Natasha gulped. Saying her name made it all too real. “Lady… Lady Wanda, who recently …” She choked on her words, tears brimming in her green eyes. “Who recently passed.”

“Oh, dear god.” The queen gasped. She nervously clasped the pendent on her necklace.

The king’s frown did not relent. He stared down at the young woman. Her tears were justified – she had lost a friend after all – but her eyes spoke a different story. There was something more to the simple tale she spun. He waved off everyone in the room, dismissing them from the chamber.

“Tell me the truth, Lady Natasha,” he urged, “for I see a deeper sadness in your eyes.”

“Your grace,” Lady Natasha muttered. Under your orders, she was not to spread the story of Wanda’s assault. As gruesome and horrible as the events that lead to her death were, the mention of her losing her maidenhood before marriage would tarnish her reputation. York’s laws would call that she be buried in an unmarked grave alongside common criminals who had no family. “My queen has demanded my silence.”

“You may be my daughter’s lady, but you are in my court,” Anthony pushed. His tone menacing, but after being in Brooken’s court under the rule of the once hailed Cruel King Rogers, it did not phase her. “You can tell me yourself, or I can bring in someone who will force it out of you.”

“Tony.” Your mother scolded. She cast a look of pity to Natasha. “Please, Lady Natasha, speak freely.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The arrow whistled in the air as the arrowhead pierced through the massive wooden board. A loud thuck! echoed throughout the silent stables followed by a pathetic whimper. Three men watched in the sidelines as the queen pulled another arrow from her quiver.

“Do you think she’s taking this a bit far?” Lord Wilson, though thoroughly impressed with your archery skills, grew rather restless as his queen toyed with her prisoner. Another arrow sliced through the air and made a similar thuck sound.

“She hasn’t even hit him once,” Steven reasoned. He, too, was impressed with your skills though he was rather disappointed that you had yet to graze his cousin’s skin. “My love,” his voice echoed, “you can get much closer than that.”

“Is that a taunt?” You asked, readying another arrow. Your husband smirked and shrugged.

Rumlow, whose chin was previously tucked into his chest as he cowered in fear, raised his head and shot an angry glare at his cousin. “Steve, you son of a –“he gasped when an arrow flew right in front of his face, inches from his eyes.

“And before, you think you can run,” you called out. Rumlow didn’t even hear – nor see – you draw an arrow as he screamed out in agony. The pain shot through his body as his eyes found an arrow lodged into his knee. You lowered the bow and sent a smirk his way before walking off towards the castle. “Bring him back to his cage.” You ordered the two guards who were in charge of his imprisonment.

As they dragged the disgraced lord away, James sent a curious glance towards his king. “I’m worried about her.” James muttered.

“As am I,” Sam agreed.

“She’s angry,” Steven said. “Her anger is rather justified.”

“Rumlow should’ve already been executed for his crimes,” Sam reminded. “If you are keeping him alive to sate your queen’s vengeance, then I’m afraid you are the cruel king you’re painted out to be.” The men chuckled at his jest.

“We cannot execute a noble without a proper trial,” Steven sighed.

“You beheaded Sharon without – “

“She confessed to the king about her betrayals,” James explained. “Rumlow has not.”

Steven added, “(Y/N)’s merely trying to coax it out of him.”

“He’s a rather tough shell to crack.” Sam agreed. “How is she, really, Steve?”

The king sighed. He glanced to the castle to see that you had already disappeared within its walls. Steven could barely understand your grief nor your pain. In the days that followed Rumlow’s capture, he had expected it to be easier for you. You had the opportunity to lash out and torture his cousin, and, to his surprise, you gladly took it. Steven thought that after wreaking havoc on his cousin that you would finally open up to him and allow him to be there for you, but you barely spoke to him about the incidents that plagued your nightmares. In fact, you barely spoke to him at all.

“It’s as if I’ve married a ghost,” Steven shook his head. “She thrashes around at night. I fear she replays the terrors in her mind when her eyes close. I see it in her eyes. Beneath the anger, the rage… She’s … She’s broken.” He sighed and rubbed his chin, slightly missing the roughness of his beard. “Any word of Pierce’s whereabouts?”

“Some say he’s hidden within the ranks of Thanos’s army. Others say he’s fled on a boat, but we would’ve caught him by now if he had been…” James said.

“Has King Anthony been informed?” Steven asked.

“We sent word we were looking for him, yes, but I’m sure Nat would relay the current events that took place to him,” James sighed. “Perhaps, you should talk to your wife?”

Steven shook his head. He didn’t want to pressure you into reopening the wounds – though he wasn’t even sure if the wounds had healed, yet. He felt as if he were walking on thin ice around you. Too harsh of a step forward, the ice would snap, and he’d get lost in the cold. He didn’t want to lose you by pushing you too hard. He had to believe that you’d come back to him in your own time.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Steven slowly entered the bedchamber. He had expected you to be sitting on the bed or standing on the balcony – it had become one of your favorite places after the night with the lanterns. But you were nowhere to be found. The king began to worry about your absence when he heard sloshing of water coming from the bath.

He knocked on the door before he entered. “(Y/N)?”

“He has yet to confess,” you muttered. Your knees were pushed up against your chest with your head resting on top of them. You were growing increasingly annoyed by Brock’s resilience. You glanced up at your husband who had nothing but concern all over his face.

“He will eventually,” Steve whispered. “But I’m not concerned about his confession…”

“No,” you said. “You shouldn’t be. You should be preoccupied with finding Pierce.”

“I’ve sent men out to look for him.”

“They aren’t doing their job!” You snapped. “Pierce is a powerful man. He’ll bribe his way to safety! You have to –“

“(Y/N)…”

“No!” Steve’s tongue grazed the back of his teeth as he watched you thrash about in the water. “We can’t… I can’t… I can’t just sit and wait while he – they – get away with this.” Your voice shook as you took your head in your hands. “I … I don’t – I can’t.” He watched as the rage slowly receded as the grief took over.

Instinctively, your husband rushed to your side and wrapped himself around you. He didn’t mind his clothes getting wet – he was just concerned for you. He rubbed your back as he tried to soothe you, allowing you to cry into his chest.

“I want him dead, Steve,” you whispered, voice muffled into his clothes. “I want them both dead.” The words frightened you. You would’ve never wished death upon anyone, but the two men deserved it.

“As do I,” he nodded. “But we cannot execute him without a confession.”

“He will not confess.” You repeated.

“I will make him confess,” Steve promised.

“Is it awful that I want to be the one to swing the ax?”

Steve shook his head. “No. You deserve to be the one to put him into his grave.” He kissed the top of your head.

“I want him to look me in the eyes and tell me everything,” you muttered. “I want him to confess.”

“He’ll crack.” Steve promised. “You will make him crack.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Boy!” Pierce called for the young sailor – Peter was his name. “Boy!”

“What, old man?” Peter snapped as he loaded the cargo onto the ship. Peter grew rather annoyed with the man’s incessant complaints. If he got off his lazy ass and helped, maybe I’ll load these faster, Peter thought as he rolled his eyes.

“What’s taking so long?”

The sailor sighed as he looked over to see kingsguard searching every boat. Peter shrugged. “Can’t leave, yet.”

“And why not?”

“You hidin’ from somethin’?” Peter asked, arching an eyebrow at the cloaked man. He wondered why “Alex” wore a cloak… The sun was blistering hot.

“I’m just not fond of boats,” Pierce waved his hand. “Just want to get the travel over with.”

Peter sighed as the kingsguard approached. “Well, I think the king’s looking for something… or someone. He’s got kingsguard searching boats.”

“What?” Pierce’s eyes widened.

“You!” Ser James Rhodes stalked up to the young sailor. “Have you seen any strangers recently?”

Peter shrugged. “Just him.” He said, pointing to the cloaked man who was huddled up in the corner of the boat. “He’s just hitching a ride with me. What are you men looking for?”

The knight paid no attention to the young man’s question. His attention focused on the man in the cloak. “Odd choice of clothing on this hot day, sir,” Rhodes told the man. The boat rocked beneath his feet as he stepped onto it.

“You’re the one in a metal suit.” Pierce faked an accent.

Peter’s face scrunched in confusion. The man hadn’t spoken like that before.

“Well, you’re the one hiding behind a thick cloak,” Rhodes chided, faking a laugh. He took another step towards the boat. His hand clutched the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it if needed. “Please do reveal yourself, sir.”

“I’m fine where I am.”

“I’m afraid I must insist.” Another step. Another.

The cloaked man suddenly leapt up, a short dagger in his hand. He swung at the knight, who brought his sword up, deflecting the older man’s attack with ease. His sword cut through the man’s wrist. Pierce groaned in agony as his free hand shot up to grab at the bleeding stump. Rhodes grabbed Pierce by the cloak and hauled him off the boat.

“I believe the Brooken King has been searching for you, Lord Pierce,” Rhodes said. “But my king wants a few words.” He walked past Peter. “Thank you, kid. The crown appreciates it,” he told him. “Sorry ‘bout the boat.”

#steve rogers #king!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #king!steve rogers imagine #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #captain america imagine #captain america #captain america x reader #royalty au #marvel royalty #marvel au #bring him light

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weirdfetishes123 · 3 years ago

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'Why is my Dick Blue' and other Pressing Questions - deviantart

Did your dom leave you with a blue stain that just won’t go away? Are you now waddling around even after hours in the juicing room? Are you now a giant blue ball that hasn’t seen the sun in months and wondering what a cute technician is doing putting this pamphlet in your face? If you answered yes to the first two questions there’s no need to worry, and if you answered yes to the last question, congratulations! You can still read! In this short guide you will find all the answers to your questions on becoming a Permaberry!

There are five levels of Permaberry. They are, in order of severity: Stained, Bloated, City, Chameleon, and Barrel. The first two are the most common and tend to happen on accident. These can occur when a caretaker waits too long to juice his berry, or they can be a planned result in order to “mark” a sub. Depending on the severity they may be able to leave the Studio, or they may be required to stay. City Permaberries are the rarest of the five. These men swell up randomly once a month or even just once a year. This used to require them to stay at the Studio, but now they can lead a normal life with some new lifestyle changes. Chameleon and Barrel Permaberries are only found at Studio 71 or at its other properties. While both are available to everyone, they carry a heavy cost in one way or another. Whichever way you choose to go, know that each Permaberry is only as permanent as you choose to be.

1) Stained.

What it is: This is the most common Permaberry. It is caused when a caretaker waits too long to juice their berry. The time frame, however, varies from person to person. Some have been juiced only after a couple of hours after swelling and have blue stains on their body, while others can wait up to a week to be juiced and come out completely clear.

What to look for: I hoped this would be self explanatory, but in case you didn’t catch on you’re looking for one (1) blue stain on you or your fuck boy’s body. The most common area to look is the groin, ass, and belly. Other places this may appear are the feet, chest, nose, or hands, although these are less common.

How it’s cured:

Well this may be hard for the affected party, but in order to get rid of the stain the affected has to remain celibate for up week at a time. This will allow the residual juices to be concentrated in the semen and make the stain disappear within a week or two. A chastity can be used here to great effect, and in fact this is usually why doms choose to make their subs Stained in the first place. If you didn’t go this route because you’re just an eighteen year old college freshman freaking out because this is the closest thing you have to ever gotten to an STI don’t worry. Even if you orgasm three times a day the stain always goes away on its own, but that would take months rather than weeks. There are no long term effects so calm down you gushy bottom.

2) Bloated

What it is: This is what happens when you leave your berry swollen for over a week. The juice becomes slightly congealed and pools in one part of the body. They may be completely blue, or just the swollen body part may be colored. In either case it’s gonna take a while to get rid of it. This is the second most common Permaberry and they almost always have to stay at the studio

What to look for: You’re looking for stained skin and large parts of the body that slosh when you touch them, other then the ones you’ve paid to see. It normally pools in the ass and belly, but it can also cause the genitals, face, and feet to swell as well. Here's the thing, if you or your date are still blue and sloshing after a 2 hour juicing session that was supposed to be 30 minutes that's a good sign that they or you are now Bloated.

How it’s cured: Buckle-up bucker-roo because you’re in for the long haul. It could take up to a month to get the swelling down. See the thing about a Bloated Berry’s juice is that is more like Jello than fruit juice. It's very stubborn, but it can be diluted with a lot water. And I mean a lot of water. Think ten gallons a day. Basically if you always feel you’re about to piss yourself that means it's working. Now that it is somewhat fluid it can be coaxed out with some basic yoga poses. Studio 71 does offer some classes that are filled with bloated berries so you’ll never be short of company. Don’t worry, the classrooms have plenty of drains on the floor. Everyone after a month or so makes a full recovery, but some lucky bastards get to keep a berry’s legendary flexibility.

3) City

What it is: Are you busy man on the go? Need a vacation? Do you feel so stressed you can just burst? Do you have a strange masochistic desire to make your God Awful existence an oddly sexual nightmare? Then you might, might, become a City Berry. This is the rarest of all the Permaberries and it only affects a baker's dozen around the globe. They have earned their name due to the fact that all of them came from major metropolitan areas before the Studio and continue to reside there. They lead average lives and being a Permaberry doesn’t affect their professional or private life at all. However, about once a month, their stomach starts to gurgle, turn blue and they start to grow. Once that happens they have about an hour to rush home to their Juicing Kit or risk being stuck as a blue ball in public.

What to look for: City Berries look just like anyone else really. There is no way to really separate them from the crowd. However in private, if you’re comfortable with violating their privacy you can look for their juicer, but this isn’t recommend as there is only 14 or so people in the whole world have them. Anyway if they were a City Berry they probably wouldn’t date someone who’s rummaging through their closest like a cracked out raccoon. Come to think of it that is just the response you should expect for everyone who has a working brain stem. Anyway at full size they aren’t any different from the berries at Studio 71. Their juice is slightly more potent however, and while a regular Studio berry might make you shade or so paler, a City Berries juice will definitely turn you blue. In the off chance you find yourself in this situation juice yourself as soon as you can to avoid becoming Stained.

How it’s cured: As of now there is no cure. Some City Berries have had this condition for years, but it hasn’t affected their life terribly. If you do find yourself in this situation you have no need to be nervous or scared.

4) Chameleon

What it is: This is it. The most Exclusive Berry drink at Studio 71. One shot can make you a berry indefinitely, but that's not all. One shot of Studio Elite gives you full control of you transformation. Do you want to be buff? Round? Blueberry? Cherry? A mix of all four? Go for it Champ! A Chameleon can change what shape and color they are at will. It is the ultimate experience of berry inflation, and most are willing to work at the studio for a year just to pay the $10,000 price tag for one shot. As it is nearly all of the staff at Studio 71 are Chameleon’s and are paying back their debt. However there are some lucky sons of bitches who win a monthly drawing to get it for free.

What to look for: Honestly anything. They could be short, tall, skinny, fat, and any color of the rainbow. Just assume that everyone who works at the Studio is one and you’re good to go. Observant guests can even spy one changing from one fruit to another if the pay attention.

How it’s cured: Asking a Chameleon if they want to be cured is like asking a lottery winner if they want to work at McDonald’s. Most don’t want it to end, but if it must there is a drinkable cure which remove the effects. What follows is a standard juicing practice and they are back to normal. As of now there has only been a couple who willingly ended to move on with their life, but more have had the privilege removed for punitive reasons.

5) Barrel

What it is: This is it. The Ride or Die Berry. The drink that turns you into a Barrel is only $20, but the price is in reality much steeper. Like the Chameleon Berry this one comes with its own separate contract. If buy this drink you have to remain in the studio for a minimum of six months. And no that can’t be negotiated down. If you drink the Barrel potion it will change your life forever, and maybe not for the best.

What to look for: You’re gonna look for a giant blue ball that has no idea where it is. That’s because barrels aren’t your run of the mill berry. Oh no, they are the closest to being permanent. See the human body isn’t exactly designed to carry two tons of fluid inside it, so the potion makes some changes. It actually weakens the skeleton in order to get the resources needed to form a cartilage sphere under the berries skin. This new flexible shell now carries the weight. This process removes most human characteristics from the berry’s skin. Their nipples, genitals, and body hair are all removed, in some cases even their hands and feet are absorbed into the body. What’s left is smooth, shiny surface that almost looks like latex. Once the juice passes the blood brain barrier it starts to effect the berry’s mind. First they lose all track of time. If you leave them alone in a room and come back an hour later they will think you only just left. Then comes amnesia. The won’t remember anything from their life before being a berry. Lastly the long term memory process shuts down. Now they believe their entire existence is what is going on around them, nothing more.

Due to the extremity of the treatment paying customers are limited to six months of this treatment. Rule breakers are another story. This is the fate of anyone who breaks Studio 71’s security or the privacy of the guests. They will be a barrel for at least a year, possible many more.

WARNING! All berries CAN and WILL become Barrels if they aren’t juiced in two weeks time! Remember to juice your Berry Boys before the two week mark or you will be forced to join them for their extended visit!

How it’s cured: One word: Juicing. Lots and lots of juicing. There is special machines made for it at Studio 71 that specialize in juicing as Barrels need a long slow juicing process. This ensures a gentle and painless process in which the cartilage sphere its dissolved by the action and the skeleton can reform. The entire process can take weeks, regardless of how long they were a Barrel. Out of all of the Permaberries only half return completely to normal. The rest have permanently stained skin and might even always carry juice in there bodies. The lest common side effects affect the brain. While 90% of all return to their normal selves, 5% gain significant intelligence, while the other 5% never fully recover from the ordeal. If you choose to go down this path think carefully. You may not come out the other end the same.

Well that's it berry boy. Feel better? No? Honestly that sounds like a “you” problem. Look there isn’t really a need to panic about a blue spot or a swollen gut, so sit down, shut up, and I hope you enjoy your stay at Studio 71. Stay Juicy!

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smndragon · 3 years ago

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Hello!! 🖤 I love your dark aesthetic!! Could I get a full reading please? My initials are ACM and my big three is Scorpio sun in the 2nd, cancer moon in the 10th, and libra rising! Thank you and have a wonderful day!! 🖤

it's kinda funny cause I'm answering this so long after and it shows cause my theme is different😭 I'm sorry it took time to answer this! Let's go!

Hm, Scorpio sun, Cancer moon, Libra ascendant. I see trees covered in moss and flowers. Pink and rainbow buds all around the branches and leaves. Garden rabbits and plants growing from the ground. There's a girl in the distance, a hay colored dun hat. Blonde hair passing her shoulders, soft tanner summer heat skin. A pale blue dress, it looked as if it had played in the grass for years waiting to fit her form. As if this place had grown just for her, the girl staring off into the distance of the hills and sun. The sky was blue, sprinkling bits of sun pieces and bright stars of all light colors. The balls of heat never burned, until now. Seeing my own clothes partially torn and burned from the ash and flakes of the burning flame. It scattered in my hands and left marks of black and red. I would like to say I was worried if it's burn me. But I was only fascinated by this world. The girl turned to me behind her with a look of curiosity, wide blue and green eyes, which sometimes changed to a light honey. (WHY DID THAT CORRECT TO HORNY) Bangs of the soft curly hair covered her forehead. To be honest, she looked like she came out of a slice of life anime or manga of sorts. Those eyes sparkled like casting spells was her gift, spells on the mind and human race. The trees limbs went to constrict around my body like snakes. The wood felt poking but safe. As if it were a chair or place made for me. She walked closer to me, she went to shake my hand extending her own out. I looked at it wondering what to do with my arms held. The tree moved and she grabbed my hand with her own two. Her smile was like walking a warm and soft sanded beach. Eyes closed to calm her pale blonde eyelashes. A button and small bit nose. She was small but she wasn't fully considered skinny. Her feet soles were green and mossy. The tree let me down for her to walk me somewhere. The grass of the hills grew to our heights around us, making it harder to catch up and see her. I feel this may have been the Libra ascendant. The sun's falling bits have off the energy of the Scorpio sun. The Scorpio may be going into the Libra's home with it's fire. Before I knew it, caught up in my own thoughts she was gone. Lost in the tall grass. Possible placements may be the chest, stomach, or shoulders. Maybe even could affect the knees somehow. The aura of the Libra is yellow, blue, or green, bright and untamed. You may have freckles, like walking barefoot, have a taste for adventure, have the ability to lead people places that are unexpected or new. Your Libra gifted you the smarts of a predator and the eyes of a humble pisces or animal.

The Scorpio sun is burning. A pile of hot burning fire and sun. Laying on top of the pile or coming out of nowhere. The Scorpio moves to get Infront of me. Putting it's head in my hand. Tied back dark red or brown hair. Eyes are thinly almond shaped. I grab their chin. The feminity of the Scorpio shows here. Your Scorpio may want to be dominated by others it loves. The eyes of the Scorpio are a dark red, daring and wishing. A bit of scruff on the chin. Around 5'5-5'11. Masculine facial features. A mark or mole under the eye. Dark clothes. That of a knight or guardian. Red and black with golden pieces and placements. It sometimes look as if he's wearing the sun when they shine. A long and nicely shaped thin nose. Curved out at the eyes. They smell of heat and freshly cut grass. As if the world were on fire. I see shining flames whenever their eyes meet mine. I'm ngl I have half the mind to kiss your zodiac right now. This is a sign worth loving. It treats your body as a temple and your mind as a deity or god. Ready to strike and defend you at every turn if it can. You may have been told you don't know when to back downs at times. Could also have back problems, or a beauty mark on the face also. There's not much here for me really, the Scorpio is humbly protective, they like being treated like a pet at times but they'll never let their guard down just yet. Possible placements may be the spine, back, or hands. Aura is red and golden. You could also like writing poetry, or something to do with hands. Possibly a physical activity or smth. You could also be someone who likes to do things only when interested, if you're not people will say you're lazy when that's not the case at you just have no interest though you're hard working. Something unmentioned was the Scorpio form at the beginning, I feel your Scorpio is very powerful in ways in the body. It can transform from the very sun, to a Scorpion, then lastly to the man.

The Cancer home is dimmed and cold. Ice pains my feet. Frost and snow fall from the ceiling and walls. The Cancer freezes sometimes here, but says it's warm. Silently begging for others to ignore it's cold breaths. The bane of ris existence at times is itself. It feels caved in and scared of the world. Possibly from a previous host or truama. The world doesn't fully terrify it, it just feels it already knows what's to come from certain things. This may make you uncommunicative inside or often. Because of the Cancer's dominance in your head it can move it's truama to you and cause you to worry or not understand things people associate themselves with at times. Unintentionally closing you off from the world or growing. It wants to feel safe and sane. Retreating when your other signs wish to take action. the Scorpio burns to partially cover the Cancer. To give it warmth it hasn't gotten on the outside. But also to cover this feeling deep down. The zodiacs worry for your poor Cancer. The crab that's iced it's blue shell to almost cracking. Your Scorpio may love this zodiac greatly in some way. Either romantically or as if very close friends. He visits the door of the crab now, knocking and waiting. Upon no reply he opens the door to see us both sitting down. Confused as to why I'm here but dragging something in behind him anyways. A possibile meat or warming blanket? He grabs a sheet to cover the Crab's shell. Patting it a few times. Going back to the bag to get meat and dusty ash. He creates a fire with a dimple flicker of the black mush. Throwing the food above the fire to stand up with sticks and tools. Taking a seat near me and the Cancer. It's silent, but tis ckmfotin. Your Scorpio worries for the Cancer. They've known each other for a few rounds of lifetimes. The Scorpio may have even seen it all. The sound of the Cancer's panic. Something happened in a previous host, the Cancer felt they couldn't save that person, that they could do nothing against the danger, costing their host much to even possibly their life. The Scorpio was not the sign in control then. A great respect for the Cancer before still present now. Possible placements are the shoulders also, the head, the lower back, or the soles of the feet. Could cause shoulder pains, neck pains, smaller or medium feet.

Your signs aren't perfect, but they do their best to help each other and you. The Scorpio sometimes feels a heavy weight watching over things by themselves at times. The Libra doesn't make it inside until now. Stopping by the door for a second before sitting with us. This is nice, and all in a few moments, it feels like home inside you.

The truama could have something to do with you or the signs it's hard to tell. May deal with panic attacks or anxiety.

Characteristics: because of the Libra maybe even a dirty blonde or blonde of some sort, maybe dark or brown hair, may go past the neck or a bit above or near the shoulders, wide dark eyes or blue and green mix. Smaller or medium to big hands. Just something on hands I feel is important. Could be white, mixed, or foreign to America (not mensing your life here just from my country possibly). May paint your nails or leave them blank, sketches a lot or some bit. Style could be dark or plain in tones of where you live. Could fit the occasion. Smaller feet. May be fairly small when it comes to weight. Height could be 5'1-5'6. Beauty mark on the face somewhere or freckles. Maybe on the back of the neck even. May glance off at times. A make also maybe in the inner thigh. Scorpios deal with eyesight either making it really gold or poor. So possible glasses.

Future relationship/soulmates: will nudge you possibly when they want to relax. Could meet somewhere in the convenience store a normal somewhat important or crowded solace to you. (stores are too common of s theme here lol) may want to give you piggy backs or get them. Dark fluffy hair or pale. Will look domineering but isn't really lol. Could always be snuggling up even in public which can bother you. Want the groceries? You'll get them they'll go out as long as they get to call you the whole way. To that you tell them to be careful when driving. Horny. Very soft and loving. Will give you time if needed when first meeting to talk to them or after asking you out at some point.

Other zodiac possible zodiac influence through other people: Scorpio ascendant, moon, or sun, cancer moon, Gemini moon, dominant, Aries sun, moon, pisces sun, ascendant, moon. Some Capricorn energy somewhere. Also maybe Sagittarius energy in you or another person. Maybe a mars Sagittarius around you?

Future/health: watch for possible things to do with electronics or not paying attention, walking in streets, we kinda discussed possible health stuff lol, back pain, shoulder aching, neck pains, panic attacks or anxiety, possible dark thoughts from the Cancer and even Scorpio.

Houses: having Scorpio sun in the 2nd house could mean an attachment to material thing from childhood. Financial gifts involving communication and interaction. Gains through others somehow. Having Cancer moon in 10th could mean you may make it doing something involving physical use or mental stability. Could be a social worker, nurse, something involving humanitarian stuff or possibly business if you focused on it. Could be a lawyer even, with Cancer there's a lot of possibilities from their talents. There's something great in you, you just have to drive for what you want. Possibly may want to owns little shop somewhere even. You'll gain possible reliable jobs through friends or connections even due to the 2nd house.

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whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

The Narcissist

My tasteful whump approach of: what if Tobias Hankel had made good on his word and come to kill Aaron Hotchner?

No major warnings apply, whump, angst, and sweet, sweet fluff

Word Count: 5k

If Aaron Hotchner smoked, he’d be blowing through a pack of cigarettes right about now. Gideon had benched him. The older man had taken one look at him and pulled him aside. He’s a nervous wreck. The tremor in his hands visible as his voice had cracked, asking the team to just broadcast what they each thought were his worst characteristics. Gideon let him drive his point home-- Aaron is many things but a narcissist has never been one of them-- and put him in a place where there was only one right answer. Gideon had told him no one would blame him if he couldn’t do this.

“It’s okay if you can’t handle it.”

His stomach cramps at the thought of those words.

Narcissists.

Bully.

Drill Sergeant.

Sexist.

Weak.

Leaning with his weight on his left arm, pinned above his head, Hotch vomits against the side of the house. His knees shake and tears he can’t control the tears that roll down his cheek. He bites back a sob as he falls to one knee, nearly landing in the puddle at his feet. They’re right, he concludes, shaking so hard he’s not certain he’s going to be able to get back up. He’s nothing but a bully. Worthless. Weak.

“Aaron Hotchner?”

Hotch looks up to see a dark shadow approaching him. He sniffles, straightening as his heart pounds. His subconscious drawing up his shields. Something’s not right. “Who are--” he jerks back, blinking dumbly as his brain fails to comprehend what’s just happened. He’s looking up at the sky, flat on his back. A gunshot. He coughs and gags as the thick taste of copper coats his tongue. He’s been shot.

“I condemn you,” the deep voice rasps into the dark.

Hotch just blinks, ragged wheezes leaving his mouth. He’s looking down the barrel of a gun.

“2 Corinthians 5:10 For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that each one may receive the things done in the body, according to what he has done, whether good or bad." The hammer draws back as the sound of the old front door being thrown open rips through the night. “Every sinner must pay--” the hammer strikes.

--------------

Derek finds Reid.

He’s sitting on the floor with his hands bound in front of him, just waiting for whatever torture comes next. When his eyes land on them, he lets out a broken sob. Drawing his feet to his chest, he shakes his head. “No,” he rasps, burying his head in his knees. “No. No. No!” He starts to rock, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and his body drawn tight.

“Spencer?” Gideon tries to crouch near him but Reid kicks out and pushes himself away.

“No,” he cries. His eyes meet Gideon’s bloodshot and red-rimmed. “No,” there are tears pouring down his eyes. “I killed him,” he rasps. “I killed him, didn’t I?” His tone shifts. His body… Spencer Reid isn’t their rookie. He’s not their kid. He’s a shell. Broken. His voice rasps and breaks as he pleads-- the truth. He needs the truth. “Gideon, you have to tell me. Did I kill him?”

Gideon shakes his head-- oh. “Derek!” his voice is a bark, a command. It’s a level of control and demand that Morgan hasn’t seen or heard of since Adrain Bale. It snaps Morgan’s attention to the man though. “Get Aaron and Garcia on the phone and get out of here. Hankel’s going to them.”

Morgan freezes in shock, processing exactly what that means. “He’s…” his eyes dart to Reid. The younger man’s eyes bouncing between Gideon and Morgan, trying so desperately to figure out the answer to his question. So Morgan doesn’t say it, he just nods and turns around shouting out for Emily. But, by God, he thinks it. He thinks it and it makes his stomach twist and his blood cold: Tobias Hankel is going to kill Hotch.

Garcia doesn’t answer his calls.

Three calls.

All to voicemail.

Morgan drives through the yard, cutting time and not giving a damn. He pulls right up alongside the police cruiser and an ambulance. “Hey,” he shouts, throwing his door open and leaving it as he runs to the first cop he sees. He pulls out his badge. “My team,” he says. “We’re working a case here. Where are Agents Hotchner and Garcia?”

The cop looks him up and down, obviously displeased with being interrupted from his leaning and watching as everyone around them works. “I don’t know,” says with a shrug. “We got some guy waiting to get picked up by the coroner.”

Morgan curses in frustration. “This isn’t some joke to me, man.” He looks around, “is there anything else you can tell me?”

Before the cop can say anything further, Emily shouts Morgan’s. She’s jogging up through the grass, moving away from the crowd of EMTs, officers, and other jackets standing by the side of the house. Motioning for him to join her, he steps back towards the car. Following.

“Hotch and Garcia are headed towards the hospital,” she shouts. “They’re not sure Hotch is gonna make it.”

--------------

Penelope Garcia stands completely alone.

Around her, the emergency room buzzes with its flooded life. Such a stark, dark comparison to her friend. His still chest barred for anyone to see as doctors lean over him. The wound is still oozing blood. A dark vacuuming wound. Sucking. He’s as pale as death and silent. He’s not crying in pain. His dark eyes aren’t scanning every inch of space he can see.

He’s still and silent.

From here, she can see the wounds from Adrian Bale’s bomb. She’s only known him since that bomb. That day.

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” she’s still new to the job. A greenie, the other agents playfully taunt. She doesn’t find it all that funny but this is better than federal prison. “How can I help you?” She’s got one hand holding the weight of her head, the other clicking her pen lazily against the desktop.

She’s not special here. She’s got nothing. She hates this job.

“Miss Garcia,” a weak voice greets. “I don’t know if you remember,” the caller coughs, wet and thick. That’s when she hears the wheezes. “I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good boss but it’s Agent Hotchner.”

She remembers. He’s who’s she’s supposed to be working with. That is before she got pulled to work at this desk all day doing nothing. She’s got about three more months of this garbage before she can be trusted with any of the real stuff. Before she can go work with the teams on the units-- mostly, to work with Hotch and his team. Of which, she still hasn’t met.

“I remember,” she says. She’s not sure what else she’s supposed to say.

He chuckles on the other end but it ends in an awful sounding cough. “Sorry,” he wheezes. “I’m afraid…” he takes a deep breath. “Have you seen the news?”

“No, sir.”

He hums. “Well,” he says, “we’ve gotten ourselves into a spot of trouble.”

From what she can tell, she feels that’s probably an understatement. Through his silence, the short pauses between his quick, shallow breathing, she can hear the commotion of a hospital. She can even hear his heart monitor. An undergrad degree in biology on a track to medical school doesn’t get you much in cyberspace as a hacker but she knows, from the sound of that monitor, somethings not okay.

“I was just wondering if you could do me a favor?”

His voice sounds so soft, nearly subdued almost as if he’s falling asleep, that she can’t say no. “Of course, sir.” She’s really only seen him a handful of times. The first time after he recruited her and several times in passing. Every time she can remember seeing him in the hall or in the parking lot he’d always offered a small, shy wave. Despite her frustrations with being placed on desk duty, she doesn’t hate him.

“I, ugh,” he clears his throat. His voice has softened. He’s certainly losing his battle with consciousness. “Haley,” he rasps her name. “My wife,” he clarifies. “I--I lost my phone and I just want to talk to her.” The hurt in his voice, the desperation breaks her heart. “...hit my head,” he slurs. “I...I--I hit my head and I can’t really… dialing the numbers is hard.”

The man just wants to talk to his wife. He just wants some comfort.

“Kind of silly,” he mumbles. “Could dial here but couldn’t remember the home one. The--ugh-- couldn’t remember the home line.”

She smiles and starts to do as he asks but then remembers the limited information she’s got right now. There’s no way she can access his file, let alone get to his personal information to find his wife’s number. “Sir,” she says, feeling tears start to pool in her eyes. She hates to do this because she wants to help him so badly. “I don’t have access to that information.”

They sit in silence for a long pause.

Hotch is struggling to hold on and thinking hurts but he’s sure there’s something she can do about that still… “Break a rule for me,” he says, tone playful. “I know you hate it down there. Hack my file.” He sniffles, the sound of sheets shifting blocking the line as he moves in discomfort. “Please, Penelope?”

Oh… how is she supposed to say no to that?

“You’d better have my back when they chew me out for this,” she says, setting into the task at hand. It’s pretty easy. Nothing like hacking the database months ago. She’s got half the work handed to her.

“Always,” he rasps.

She finds it easy enough. “Alright,” she says. “I’m dialing her right now.” They both sit in silence as the ringing fills the line. Two rings turn into three and she feels her heartbreaking for this poor man. The line clicks to an end and she smiles sadly at the sound of her much healthier boss’s voice greets the end call. Haley, she’s assuming, cuts in and ends the recording.

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

“ ‘s okay,” he slurs. “She’s… She’s pro’ly gonna call back ‘vently.”

Chewing at her lip nervously she offers, “I can stay. If you’d like. I’ll talk to you.”

He chuckles softly and she winces as it ends in more uncomfortable shifting and more of those terrible wheezes. “...don’t hafta.” He chokes on a breath and their conversation takes a pause as a nurse steps in. Her soft voice telling Hotch that he needs to rest and the doctor’s ordered some mild sedatives.

“Can’t,” he whispers to the nurse. “I’m talk’n to my friend Penelope.”

She smiles, blushing.

The nurse responds in kind that Garcia can stay but he still needs to get some rest.

“She’s right, sir.” She cuts in. “I’ll stay and talk to you until fall asleep, okay?”

She can hear the hiss of oxygen which is good because his breathing was really concerning her. When he comes back he sounds better but like he’s half-asleep. That’s probably for the best. “You’re supposed to be on my side,” he says.

“I am,” she responds. “You need some sleep though. For your head.”

He hums in agreeance. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I hit my head.”

“I know.”

She’d talked to him that day until the phone died, even though he only stayed awake three minutes after that. Leaving that day from the office, she’d seen what he’d meant about the news and the “spot of trouble” he’d gotten into. Six agents were dead. She’d cried, right there in the bullpen, for a man she hardly knew.

Since then, she’s really grown to love him. He’s her friend. She loves him.

“Baby girl?”

Garcia turns around and sees Morgan, Emily, and JJ. She stays where she is, tears falling down her face, and leans right into the hugs they pull her into. She needs all the comfort she can get. But the hugging only lasts for so long. There are questions they need to be answered and she’s the only one with the answers.

They give her time. Twenty minutes. Just enough time for Gideon and Reid to come to the hospital

“Okay,” Morgan holds his hands around Garcia’s. Keeping her hands cupped around the warm styrofoam surrounding the shitty hospital coffee Gideon had bought them all. It keeps her hands from shaking so hard. “Can you tell me what happened now?’

Garcia nods and sniffles. She glances up at him once, shying away from his kind gaze. “Hotch went outside,” she starts, “right after you guys left.” Forcing herself to take a steadying breath, she’s able to continue on. Trying very hard to keep her composer. She knows it’s important she tells someone. “I could hear him getting sick,” she whispers because it feels like something she shouldn’t be saying. “You know how he is,” she says, looking up at Morgan. “When he gets like that? So nervous and anxious that he just…”

Morgan nods. He’s seen Hotch work his nerves up like that many times. It’s hard to tell how many times Morgan’s tailed Hotch outside, standing to the side as the man fails to work through an anxiety attack. He’s gonna kill himself one of these days getting worked up like that. Won’t ever let anyone help him, either.

Garcia had wanted to help him tonight. She just… she couldn’t stand to see him like that. Shaking so hard and pale. He’d excused himself after about ten minutes of the two of them just sitting in silence, listening to the other’s going over the plan to get Reid.

“I couldn’t see him like that,” Garcia says softly. “I wanted to help,” her voice cracks and she starts to shake again. “When I--” her breath catches.

“Alright,” Morgan stops her. He rubs her thumbs over her hands. “Take your time. You don’t have to rush.”

Garcia nods and takes a moment, breathing in through her nose. “I’m okay,” she says with a tight smile. Morgan doesn’t believe it. She can tell. Squeezing his hand she repeats herself. “I mean it.” Besides, what comes next is the hard part.

Clearing her throat, she manages to continue. “I was coming outside when I heard the first gunshot,” her voice is already shaking again. “I don’t know-- I didn’t really know what to do? I mean, Hotch has a gun and I don’t so… but I didn’t want something to be wrong and leave him all by himself.” She sniffles a little, laughing sadly at the irony of her own words.

Morgan brushes the tear that falls down her cheek away.

“When I got out there…” she stops, just thinking about what she’d seen.

The porch only had one lightbulb which hung from a strand of wires just hardly holding on. Still, as she stepped out the low light had shown her all she needed to see. The dark silhouette of Hotch’s face and his long body on the ground. There was blood on his face and more pooling onto his white dress shirt. Spreading and falling down the sides of his chest. So much blood.

There was a second man. He’d started talking like he didn’t even see her.

“I condemn you.”

She’d been frozen, in both fear and confusion.

She hadn’t done anything until she saw him pulling the hammer back. Aiming to shoot Hotch again. “Hey,” she’d run at the man with everything she had. Not for a moment did she think about what would happen if the man turned the gun to her. What would have happened then? If he’d shot her?

There’d be two bodies in the morgue.

“Hotch isn’t dead.”

Garcia flinches and looks up at Morgan in confusion. “What,” she rasps, softly.

“You said--” he frowns in confusion. “You said there would be two bodies in the morgue but Hotch isn’t dead. He’s still in surgery.” He leaves out how grim things are looking. That losing Hotch will set off a domino effect. They’ll lose Reid and Gideon isn’t enough. They’ll lose the team. The only family some of them have ever had.

Oh. She nods. Right, no, she knew that. That’s easy for him to say though. He hadn’t placed his hands over the gaping hole in Hotch’s chest. He hadn’t looked Hotch in the eyes, watching as his life blurred out. She had. She’d felt her friend’s heart slowing. Heard his breathing catch, stop, and his eyes dim. She’d been there. She’d held his hand in the ambulance.

She was right there.

She… doesn’t think he’ll make it.

“Yeah,” she whispers thickly. This time she doesn’t let Morgan brush away her tears. She hadn’t told him the worst parts. That she’d hit Tobias Hankel until he stopped moving. She’d watched his blood splatter out around him and she’d caused that.

Then she’d gone to Hotch. Her knees are still soaked with his blood. The grass had just… it was like sitting in mud. Warm mud. His eyes had searched for her in his confusion, his mouth moving to form silent words. She’d held his hand the whole time. Never leaving his side until the E.R. He’d stopped breathing in the ambulance just as it had pulled into the lot.

The worst part is that he hadn’t panicked. While everyone else in the ambulance moved with newfound vigor, he’d finally relaxed. The stress lines in his face had smoothed over and his eyes had calmed of their rapid movement. Through the chaos, he’d just looked at her and as the doctor’s pulled him away he’d squeezed her hand. And she’s still trying to figure out if he’d meant he would be okay or if she would.

“We need to get you checked out,” Morgan says, running a hand over her arm.

She looks up and shakes her head, “no. I didn’t get hurt. I promise.”

He knows she’s not hurt. The blood all over her clothes may not be hers but he’s sat in blood before too. As reassuring as it is to know it doesn’t belong to you… it’s also insanely psychologically damaging to know it belongs to someone else. Let alone that someone else being someone you love.

“I know,” he soothes. “You’re shaking pretty bad and at the very least, a nurse can get us some warm water to get this blood off. Okay?”

For the first time, she looks at the blood staining her clothes. Looking down at her shaking her hands, she sees the blood caked under her nails and dried to her skin. It makes her sick. “Okay.”

--------------

“Haley’s here.”

Emily is the first person to frown in confusion. She’s been on the team for only a few shorts months. Her relationships with them are rocky but forming. Given how tightly Hotch holds to his personal information she’s not certain but… “Haley is…” she glances to Morgan and then to Gideon when the other man doesn’t respond.

Gideon nods his head solemnly.

Emily’s heart kicks a beat, so hard she has to shake her head to regroup. Just some four hours ago Hotch had commended her on her ability to compartmentalize everything she sees and here she is shirking away because her boss's wife is here. But it’s not about some power dynamic. “But,” she swallows thickly around the tightness in her throat, “we don’t have news for her.”

Morgan stands up from his chair, eyes on the floor and back to her as he shrugs, “she knows the drill.”

A cold film of sweat covers Emily’s skin at just the thought. She knows about things that have happened for this team before she was on it. She just… it’s kind of different when she has some surface-level understanding of who they are. Even if she thinks Hotch is a dick, she doesn’t hate him. He’s better than a lot of bosses she’s had and maybe-- well, don’t hold her to it, but maybe she feels bad about the name-calling thing. Emily watches silently, unable to hear the words being shared between them. She can still see, though. The way Morgan’s hands shake as he recounts the details. Haley just… takes it. She nods along, clinically removed. She’s strong, more than she should have to be.

Turning from Morgan, Haley steps closer into the waiting room. Looking around at the others, what’s left of them. “And the rest of you,” she asks. “The rest of you are okay?”

Gideon takes on the question. He squeezes her shoulder, “Reid and Garcia are in the E.R. They’re getting there…”

Haley nods and wraps her arms around herself. She takes a steadying breath. “He’s gonna-- He’s going to want to know,” she says and Emily feels intense empathy for this woman. “You know he’s going to want to know as soon as he wakes up if they're’ okay.”

If he wakes up.

Gideon nods, “I know.”

“Okay,” Haley whispers and she’s numb, Emily realizes, as Gideon guides her to a chair. She’s numb so she doesn’t break. “I would--” Haley grabs Gideon’s hand. “I would like to see Spencer and Penelope. To make sure they’re okay.”

Gideon nods, “I’m sure they’d like that.” And they will. While Hotch prefers to stay in the background and worry but there’s no secret Haley is too. They both have a strong love for the babies on the unit.

And now… they have nothing to do but wait.

“Haley?” Reid wakes up restrained. His thin arms held down to the bed with itchy velcro. While he isn’t familiar with this in a personal sense, he’s seen his mother laid out like this. He doesn’t even have to test the restraints, he knows he’s not going anywhere. More pressing than that… Haley Hotchner sitting at his bedside.

Haley perks up, smiling when she sees his dark eyes open in slivers. “Hey, sweetheart,” she greets. She stands and comes closer to the bed, taking his thin, cold hand in her own. “How are you feeling?” This man may not be of any blood relation to her or Aaron but she loves him. Her husband loves him. He’s family.

Reid turns his head away from her, tears falling down the corners of his eyes. “You hate me,” he whispers.

She knows only what she needs to. Of course, under the jurisdiction and because the case hasn’t officially “closed” she can’t know that Reid chose Hotch. That his words condemned Aaron to being shot tonight. She does know that Reid is unnecessarily blaming himself for the accident. Because, as they'll soon be able to explain, Tobias was going to hurt someone either way. Haley would agree.

“No,” she soothes. “Of course, I don’t hate you.”

Reid turns to her, eyes haunted and voice hoarse, “but I killed him.”

Haley can’t help the choked sound she makes. Vehemently, she wants to deny that but she doesn’t even know if her husband is alive right now. “You didn’t,” she reassures him because at the very least she knows that’s the truth. This job has already taken her husband’s life. There’s no point in placing the blame on anyone else. “If Aaron dies tonight,” just the thought makes her chest tight.

This isn’t what she’d imagined falling in love with Pirate #4 would look like. A widower in her thirties. Raising their son all alone.

She clears her voice, steadying herself and pushing away the thought. “If Aaron dies tonight, that will have no one’s fault. No one but the Unsubs.” She glances over her shoulder, to the crowd of people-- his team. Their family. She’s seen the guilty little glances they pass her. The hug Garcia had trapped her in… they think they could have stopped this. “This, what happened tonight, is no one’s fault. Not yours, not Aaron's.”

Leave it to her husband to form a team of guilt-ridden sweethearts. She really does love them.

“Do you understand me,” she asks, eyebrow raised.

There are nods and general mumbles but what really catches her attention is the soft, sad smile Garcia manages. “You sounded like him,” the tech analyst whispers. “He’s always so worried about us,” she brushes a tear from her eyes. “Sometimes, sometimes we forget to worry about him.”

But he never lets them.

He’s so under lock and key… preoccupied with an image he’s conjured of what leadership is supposed to look like that he forgets the humanity. The bleeding. The yelling. The life.

Until it’s too late.

A doctor comes to get them. He’s alive, if only marginally. If only just holding on.

His humanity is now visible to them all.

In the mess, there is only a light blanket draped over his thin hips. It leaves his chest bare, visible for them to look long at hard at. To force this memory into their minds. To remember that under those suits there is just a man. A man who is broken and who hurts.

And, in the end, it’s her by his side when he wakes up confused and in pain.

“Aaron,” she pushes his sweat-soaked hair out of his face. Even with his eyes on her, he twists, kicking out in pain. He tries to turn his head, pinched eyes sending tears down his face. If he could cry out, he would, but all he can do is choke around the tube in his throat.

It’s like this--

He wakes for a moment, a glimpse of consciousness, and pain. She’s right by his side. She holds his hand and reminds him that he’s okay. That the team is waiting just outside. Then he falls back into the drugs.

It goes on for three days. Hours and hours of his pained kicks and tears. Nothing she can do for him.

On the fourth day, they take the tube out.

The team visits.

He’s sitting up, not of his own violation. There are pillows all around, supporting his back and sides, and two placed around his head to keep his neck supported. He is leaning heavily to his right, curled into the side of his injured chest. Haley’s tucked his blanket up over his chest, doing her best to conceal the bruises up and down his pale skin. No matter how hard she tries, the chest tube nestled between his ribs makes it’s bloodied appearance.

And it’s the first thing they all notice when they come in.

Then him.

Slack against the pillows holding him and eyes out the window on the wall. Half-lidded as he falls asleep.

“Sir,” Garcia whispers. She’s at the front of the crowd and the only one strong enough to push through her shock to get to him. She wastes no time coming to him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’s so good to see you,” she manages between tears.

He smiles when she hugs him. It’s gentle, she’s very aware of the layer upon layers of bandages currently holding him together. “Penelope,” he croaks, sleepy eyes moving down her colorfully addressed body and his smile broadening when he finds no scratches. No harm. His chest aches and he finds it impossible to push out any more words but he hopes she understands.

He can remember a flash of the ambulance ride here. He can’t remember how or why his body hurts so bad but he knows Garcia was there. The faintest feeling of her hand in his, her voice guiding him between glimpses of consciousness.

Garcia smiles kindly, reaching down to squeeze his hand. “I’m really glad to see you, sir.” Even as he is, hardly presently and held together by surgical stitches-- it beats how she’d left him. For the past few nights, she’s woken in a cold sweat hearing his gurgled breaths. The sound and sight of his chest cavity filling with his lungs.

Jason comes next because none of the others can find their courage. “I know you have a sentimental attachment to your ties,” Gideon says, smiling down at his old friend. “But you really do look decades younger without it.” Nearly, identical to the boy that David Rossi had told him about all those years ago. Eager to learn but not fully trusting of their motives.

Still a trouble maker though.

Shame swells in his stomach, another of his failings so broadly laid out in front of them. If David Rossi could see the two of them now, he’d skin them both. Jason had promised to look out for “the boy”, as Dave fondly called Aaron. But the boy has grown out of his shell…

Jason had kicked him out of it with Boston and he knows Aaron wasn’t ready for that.

He ducks his head and leaves Aaron’s side with a light pat of the younger man’s hand.

Derek guides Reid to Hotch, ignoring the genius’s weak protests.

Hotch’s light up, a spark of life in his body as he spots the kid. “Reid,” he rasps. He shifts his hand, dragging it out to touch Reid. To make sure he’s really here. “... okay?” he manages, breathing, taking the strain of so much movement and all his talking.

Reid nods and it takes all of his self-control not to flinch away from Hotch. His skin is freezing. Hotch is always so warm, even just to stand beside. It’s scary and the weight of his guilt pulls Reid down. “I’m--I’m--”

Hotch smiles weakly, a crooked little grin that meets the lazy mirth in his eyes. “Please,” he whispers. “... d’n’t lie t’ me.”

Reid sniffles, tears threatening to fall down his face. As he’s pulling himself into a lie, he’s surprised to find Hotch’s hand just barely raised off the bed. Beckoning him close. For a hug. He wants to stand stoic. For once in his life, to just be the bigger man but he takes one look at his friend at the man he’s lost sleep worrying over, the man who he trusted to save him from Tobias, and he…

He lets Hotch pull him in.

“You’ll be okay,” Hotch promises. Reid tucks his face into Hotch’s neck, wanting desperately to pull more comfort from this hug but it ends because it has to. Hotch holds his hand a second too long, the two of them just looking at each other. “Strong,” Hotch rasps and Reid nods his head.

If Hotch can believe it… Reid has to.

Derek almost doesn’t say anything at all. He can’t find his voice. A part of him wants to just make out unbothered and another part of him wants to gather his boss into his arms and just hug him. Make sure he’s really here. “Don’t scare me like that.” Derek decides on an in-between. He reaches out and playfully messes with Hotch’s hair, making his bed head even worse. “Next time,” Derek says, losing his gusto. He smiles fondly at his friend and reaches down to squeeze his hand. “Next time you pull a stunt like this, I’ll kick your ass. I don’t care who’s boss you are.”

It makes Hotch smile and it creates perfect timing for JJ to steal her own hug. She slips right in beside Derek, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I wouldn’t let him do that,” she promises.

He nods, “...you’d do it yourself.”

She smiles and agrees, “but only if you really deserved it.”

He doubts that.

Emily stands back and attempts to make her getaway unnoticed. She hadn’t wanted to come to the hospital. She isn’t a part of this family, not really, not yet. Garcia had dragged her here though, those sad puppy eyes and a pouty lip. So, Emily caved and she’s regretted that decision since. Especially, when she catches his eyes mid-break-away.

“...okay?” he asks, once again. That seems to be what his main focus is on. The one thing his exhausted brain can pick to identify in each of them.

She wants to scoff or be frustrated with his worry but she looks at his eyes and she realizes that it's a genuine question. He really wants to know. It’s… a strange olive branch to find in the midst of their heated hatred of one another but perhaps she has underestimated him. Maybe, she doesn’t understand him as well as she thinks she does. With a nod, she promises, “I’m okay.”

The ease that sinks into his shoulders is not what she’s expecting.

He struggles to say something else, a mumbled, suppressed something that catches Haley’s attention. She stands and gently runs her palm against his cheek. “Don’t worry about that sweetheart,” she whispers. “Your teams here now, okay? They’re okay.” She wipes his brow, running the side of her fingers along his cheekbone. Smiling when it makes his eyes creep shut, soothing him back down. “Get some rest.”

He nods his head and his eyes fall shut. He’s exhausted. All this talking is hard and he’s hardly managed to stay awake this long all week. “Mmm,” he forces his eyes back open. They move around the room, taking inventory of the crowd. “Okay,” he asks softly.

Haley smiles and keeps up her gentle soothing. “We’re okay.”

His eyes slip back shut. “Okay.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #hotch whump #whump #angst #fluff #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jason gideon #derek morgan #jennifer jareua #emily prentiss #haley hotchner

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passivenovember · 4 years ago

Text

Tetherball : Harringrove April Day One

Also on ao3

Steve put his seatbelt on that first day, when Billy stepped out of his chariot across school grounds, taking inventory of things as they were. Life as Steve knew it.

Nancy in the seat next to him.

First period chemistry, English, Geology, lunch. Steve took note of the periwinkle tones in the sky, the rumble of the cafeteria on pizza day, the smell of the library and the way the books turned on you if there were late fees to be settled.

Everything fell into bullet points across worn pavement.

Then versus now. Before and after.

Steve said goodbye to planet Earth that day, whether he knew it or not. Whether he found it favorable. The rumble of an engine beneath his feet changed Steve's perception, and the weight of two blue medallions grew and grew until Steve had learned the facts.

William Hargrove went by Billy. And he had tumbled in from California, presumably naked on a sea shell, where Billy’s stepsister doused hatred like a flame in the ocean under skies full of seagulls and cotton candy wisps.

He wore elevens in converse and a large Hawkins Phys Ed t-shirt that popped seams across his biceps but went soft and wavy in the middle.

Not like it mattered, though.

William went by Billy and he called skins as soon as coach blew the whistle. His t-shirt never made another appearance after that.

That's all Steve needed to know, right? The basics. California and step sisters, William instead of Billy, and the sound of rubber on polished oak.

But that's the funny thing about revelations.

Facts are different when colored by opinions, and Steve felt them dropping like coins from the hole in his pocket. As he got to know Billy the bullet points that had taken over Steve's mind rippled and glimmered in the light of first period. Changing.

He observed.

Wondered.

Obsessed.

Developing thoughts about who Billy was and, eventually, the person he pretended to be. Steve wasn't interested in the line Billy drew around the two halves of a whole. Any of the masks he wore in the cafeteria around princesses and prom queens versus the man Steve saw in second period English, who was.

Soft spoken and thoughtful. Every pastel shade in the sky versus brash and heated sunsets over barley.

Flame and sea, like a burning ship at war.

Steve wasn't interested but he learned anyway. Took notes, eyes tracking the brush of Billy's thumb on his bottom lip, brows pinching in concentration as he deciphered the root of a poem in ten seconds flat. The curl of his lips when we took his paper from Mr. Terrine. How he always had an extra pencil for anyone who needed it.

Before long Steve aced his exam in AP Hargrove and failed where everyone else said it mattered.

Got himself a tutor.

Blue eyes to pin him in place, pink lips to seal the passage between worlds. Steve wasn't interested in spending his afternoons under a tetherball, smacking brightly colored plastic out of his face as Billy read to him from a textbook while his sister. Max (step sister, Billy's voice supplied), kicked some girls ass on on the skateboard during softball practice.

"Should we try it once more?" Billy's patient. Steve wasn't expecting that.

He smacks the ball away again. "I've learned a lot about you, but I wasn't expecting this."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Y'know." From across the playground Max teaches her girl how to kick flip. Steve doesn't think that's right. He shrugs anyway. "Smarts. Like, AP biology, Valedictorian, Brain stew smart."

They've been studying together for weeks.

Four weeks. Seems like more with the slide of Billy's shoulder against Steve's arm, blonde ringlets dodging the tetherball as it swings overhead. Billy's fingers brush the open faced textbook, mouth serious but eyes soft. Sparkly, like a discarded bag of glitter.

"Maybe you should pay more attention to the prose."

"Maybe I can do both at the same time." Steve fiddles with the edge of the notebook, nodding as Billy grins. "Alright, goldilocks, tell your silly little story."

He does.

The green eyed boy in the powder blue shirt standing next to you in the supermarket recoils as if hit,

repeatedly,

by a lot of men, as if he has a history of it.

Steve leans back against the rusty iron pole, feeling the weight of the tetherball on one side of his head, and. The brush of golden curls on the other. He closes his eyes, feeling a voice more than hearing it.

That is not your problem. You have your own body to deal with.

The lamp by the bed is broken--

"Are you following?" Billy asks. He moves, knees drawn up so the book is balanced close to the curve of his chin. Close to the split in the universe. "We're getting into muddy waters here--"

"'S not that muddy."

"Sure it is." Billy's cheeks flush, pink paint across the bridge of his nose. He moves against Steve's arm, elbow knocking into ribs. "Tell me what you think is happening."

Steve thinks about it.

Knocks Billy's arm away gently, closing his eyes. "Read some more and then we'll talk."

Billy does.

The lamp by the bed is broken. You are feeling things he is no longer in touch with a nd everyone is speaking softly, as if not to wake one another.

The wind knocks the heads of the flowers together. Steam rises from every cup at every table at once.

Things happen all the time.

Things happen at every minute that have nothing to do with us.

Billy stops reading and Steve peeks at him through an eye half-lidded, curious. "Is that the end of the story?"

"Poem."

"Huh." Steve straightens, moving his legs this way and that. "Felt like a story."

Billy mirrors him exactly, closing the textbook and grabbing his pencil. "That's interesting."

And the way he says it. While flipping through his pea-green fivestar spiral, makes it feel wrong. Stupid.

Steve smacks distantly at the sky. "No it's not."

"Sure it is. Siken's poems are very lyrical. They paint images, vivid images, and sometimes I can imagine myself doing what the lines convey."

Steve grins. "You can imagine yourself in bed with another man?"

Steve isn't interested in the answer but he's interested in the feeling, the glint of emotion behind a wall of powdery blue. It doesn't seep through the cracks, though, it's contained. If Steve wants to find the center, he'll have to dig.

Billy doesn't miss a beat. "If that's what you think the poem's talking about, sure."

"Of course that's what it's talking about."

"How so?"

Steve laughs at that, rubbing against Billy's side. "You sound like a scholar."

"Is that so wrong?"

"No." Steve says thoughtfully. "'S cute."

Billy doesn't crack. Not in the way Steve's used to. No fingers in his hair, spinning spools of gold as he peeks at Steve through thick lashes. Instead he makes a note of it, whatever it is they're saying. Scribbling Steve's interpretation on one side of the blank page, dividing the two halves with a thick black line.

Billy intends to find the truth. "The protagonist is in love with the man at the supermarket? Is that what you're saying."

"I guess."

Billy rolls his eyes. "Your intent has to be clear. Poetry is all about interpretation; if you don't attempt to bridge the divide--"

"All right, Einstein." Steve plays along. "Sure."

Billy's eyes flash victorious as he clicks the pen trigger. "What makes you say that?"

"The way he's obsessed with him."

"The way the narrator is obsessed?" Billy leans forward, intent. "With the man in the grocery store?"

"What makes you deny it?" Steve wonders, folding his legs beneath him so they're crisscross applesauce.

Billy leans back against the pole, casual and easy. "I'm not the one failing English."

"No, but you are the poet." Steve counters. "Dude, I know you have an interpretation. I know you have thoughts, so. Just tell me."

Billy turns to face the playground.

Max skates circles around her girl, smiling in the way Billy does when he's got Steve pinned on the court. Like a predator. Pushing and pulling back just enough to leave the girl chasing after her, enough to catch herself before Max has a chance to get her claws out.

It's incredible, Steve thinks, how much Billy is just like his sister.

"I think he's using him."

Steve cocks his head, curious.

"The man with the blue shirt." Billy opens the textbook and reads the part about the lamp again, peeking up at Steve through frizzy curls. "The narrator says we are feeling things the man is no longer in touch with."

Steve leans forward. "Like love?"

Billy thinks about it. "No."

"Connection, then."

"If they're sleeping together it's more than just sex." Billy counters, "More than just carnality."

Which.

Steve frowns. "People fuck all the time without connecting."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Steve thinks about rattling down his list. The girls, the guys, the one night stands and bullshit post-game hook ups.

Billy fiddles with the edges of his notebook almost. Shyly. "People have sex because they're in love."

Steve snorts. "There's a million reasons to fuck outside of love."

Billy's eyes flash hard with.

Something. He bares his teeth. "Yeah? Like what?"

"I dunno. Breakup sex, makeup sex, sorry for burning a hole in your prom dress sex--"

"Gross."

"Point is." Steve looks at Billy. Studies him, the freckles across his upper lip, the scruff along his jawline. "Sex and emotion don't have to exist within each other."

Billy stares back at him, eyes wide and distant. Closed off.

He writes something on Steve's half of the notebook. "I disagree."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Billy tosses his pen to the ground. "Our narrator says the man in the blue shirt has a history of being hit by other men."

"So?" Steve has trouble following at the best of times, and this.

The way Billy is worrying the skin on his fingers, nails catching and tearing in places they don't belong, feels important.

Billy shrugs. "Why would he sleep with a man without knowing his heart?"

"Maybe he just wants to feel something."

"Or maybe he wants to connect." Billy turns to look out across the playground once more, fingers tugging at the edge of his notebook. "Maybe he's existing in this bubble, like. This silent world with a tiny room where everyone is speaking softly out of respect. Maybe he chooses the wrong person because it's better than feeling half alive."

Steve knows they aren't talking about the poem anymore.

He tugs the notebook from Billy's hands, flipping through a million and one handwritten theories and observations. Billy lets him. Lets Steve look through his life and into his mind before handing the spiral back and asking, "Have you ever picked the wrong person?"

Billy doesn't say anything and then; "Yes."

"How come?"

"Everybody's wrong if you squint hard enough."

Steve nods, looping his arms around his knees. "And I'm assuming you didn't sleep with any of them."

He doesn't expect Billy to answer. It's not like they owe each other anything, honesty or otherwise. Billy leans back against the pole once more. From where their bodies are pressed together Billy feels feverish. Incendiary.

Billy clears his throat. "Or the opposite."

Which catches Steve off guard.

Billy watches him for a moment, eyes dark and serious. "I don't think the narrator sleeps with the man in the blue shirt. Maybe he intends to. Take the guy home, make a couple drinks, blaze trails into something previously unknown to him or maybe just. A feeling he hasn't felt in a while. But intimacy isn't always about sex."

Steve snorts. "I can't think of anything more intimate than being inside another person."

"But you are inside them, just. Not in the way you expected."

Steve glares out over the playground. The sun will be setting soon, blacktops and brown fields painted in shades of red and orange. The whole world will catch on fire but Steve feels the beginning, coals glowing bright red under the line of his ribcage when he turns to find blue eyes on him.

Dousing the fire, or maybe.

Raising the stakes. His eyes flit across Billy's forehead, brushing over his lips and coming to rest on his eyelashes. Feathery and soft, like the arms of a teddy bear. Steve licks his lips, going up in flame when Billy's eyes track the movement.

"I lied." Steve says.

Billy doesn't look away. "I'm not sure what you--"

"The first time a boy ever kissed me." Steve says. "When a boy kissed me because he wanted to, that was more intimate than anything I'd ever felt before."

Billy's gaze falls impossibly lower, tracing the swell of Steve's lips. "How did it feel?"

And he says it like.

He couldn't possibly know.

And Steve says, "Like my heart was taking root," like.

Let me show you.

Billy takes a deep breath. "I don't think I've ever felt like that."

"Never?"

"Not once."

From across the playground Max's answering laugh makes Billy's skin turn gold. Caramel, ice cream topped with sugar. Steve feels his body inching closer, mouth opening as if to taste love on the air.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #spring #idiots in love #first kiss #day one

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wkemeup · 5 years ago

Text

Cold, Cold Water

summary: While on a stakeout in the heart of Russia, Bucky learns that touch can bring something more than pain and he will willingly give himself over to the ice if it means keeping you alive. pairing: Bucky x reader word count: 10.5k warnings: SMUT (18+), 🎶stake-me-out tonight🎶, some violence, near drowning, hypothermia, that good ol’ we-gotta-share-body-heat-or-you-might-die trope a/n: this was written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan‘s follower celebration! My prompt was “have you been crying?” This clearly took on a whole life of its own...

Bucky didn’t care much for the cold. It always seemed to be more of a challenge to his mind than his body. It took him back to darker memories of enclosed spaces and lapses of time, to handlers barking orders and the electricity of the chair. Whenever a chill swept up his spine, he had to remind himself of who he was, had convince himself he was safe and not about to lose another decade under ice.

The serum pumping through his veins aided in keeping the shivers to a minimum and allowed him to tolerate more than most when it came to freezing temperatures but it didn’t make it any easier to sit in an unmarked car, deep into central Russia, watching as his breath left his lungs in small, isolated fogs.

He started to wonder why he ever agreed to take on a reconnaissance mission in a place where the icy cold of the air stung in his nose with each inhale. That was, until he heard the soft rustle of your jacket beside him as you yawned, readjusting your position, and he remembered.

He went for you.

You were curled up against the passenger door, huddled under three layers of t-shirts, sweatshirts, and a heavy woolen jacket, though it didn’t seem to stop your constant shivering. The clicks of your teeth chattering together hadn’t ceased since you’d arrived to the frozen wasteland nearly two weeks prior and while Bucky offered to take the first watch of the night in hopes you’d get some rest, you had yet to even close your eyes.

Forehead pressed against the window, you winced as you tried to get comfortable along the stiff seats of the dated car. Knees tucked up to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your legs trying to preserve warmth, your breaths were shaky on every exhale.

Bucky swallowed nervously, stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye as he tried to keep focus on the target of the mission.

An arms dealer by the name of Ivanov paced back and forth in front of the window to his apartment, only his shadow visible from Bucky’s position in the car. Every few seconds, Bucky turned and caught a glimpse of you pushing your rosy cheeks into the wrap of your scarf or carefully blowing hot air on your hands, but nothing seemed to help the icy cold of your skin.

It made his stomach turn, watching you try to keep warm despite the freezing temperatures outside. You had reluctantly asked to start the engine of the car after sitting on your hands for nearly two hours and Bucky hated having to tell you no, that any kind of attention drawn to the car could blow the cover. You had nodded, understanding, but your lips were turning blue.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to take your discomfort away, to give you the advantage of the serum so he could suffer through the chills in your place. He’d do just about anything for you, he realized.

He didn’t have a way of quantifying his relationship to you but he knew it sat somewhere beyond friendship and less than what he wanted, needed.

When Steve first brought him to the compound a year earlier after he’d been pardoned, he had been a shell of the man he was in the forties. As much as Steve tried, Bucky couldn’t be the man his friend so desperately wanted him to be. He was something else now, something darker and broken, something irredeemable and lost. He was sure of it.

Until he met you.

Like the first breath of air after his lungs had filled with water, you walked into his life and gave him something he hadn’t known in decades. Hope.

You never walked on eggshells with him, never avoided him when he walked in the room, always sent him the kind of smile that warmed over the ice in his chest even when he could give you nothing but scowls and hardened features in return. You never pushed him beyond what he could handle, but you were determined to get him to open up, to feel safe, to have someone he could call a friend, who appreciated him for the man he was and not for the absence of who he used to be.

Over time, he started to notice himself smile when you walked in the room. He started to give you answers to your questions longer than a few words and started asking questions of his own. He started to seek you out when you didn’t show up in the kitchen for coffee at your usual hour and started asking if you had any suggestions for shows he should catch up on since Parker hooked him up with some streaming site he couldn’t remember the name of. You had smiled so bright, Bucky almost melted.

Through it all, Bucky wished more than anything else that he could forget about his past, that he could start fresh and let himself fall for a woman he so clearly had feelings for. But every time someone came too close to him, his heart skyrocketed so fast he was sure he might pass out.

He hated that it happened even when it was you.

Unsurprisingly, you were incredibly observant and seemed to be the only one who noticed the way he flinched when Steve proudly patted him on the back the day he recalled another memory from their childhood and when Wanda had kindly touched his arm apologetically when she almost knocked him over on her way off the elevator. You noticed that he backed away whenever someone got too close and how he’d jump up off the couch like something had burned him if anyone sat close enough to touch his thigh.

Much like the cold, he didn’t do well with touch either, he supposed.

Add it to the list.

While you never confronted him, you made sure to be cautious of it, always letting him take that step on the days he was comfortable to do so. He wondered if you knew how much your kindness affected him, if you understood that the gentleness you treated him with was more than he’d known in decades and every time you pushed the boundaries and let your hand graze over his, his heart skipped a beat for the right reasons.

He was getting better with the idea of touch and, slowly, he came to find that he wasn’t so afraid of it if it was coming from you.

He started missing the feel of your fingertips ghosted over his arm in such a whisper that they were gone before he even realized they were there. He craved the way your thigh would brush against his as you sunk down onto the couch for movie nights before you realized how close you had sat next to him and scooted away apologetically. He needed the way you reached out to steady him with a close hold on the flesh of his shoulder like he needed air.

You grounded him, brought him back to the surface after decades of swimming underwater, and he wasn't even sure if you knew.

So, as he watched you struggled to keep your arms from shaking, the clouds of your breath forming from your lips, he wondered if maybe he could do something about it after all, if maybe he could push past the accelerating beat of his heart to ease your discomfort.

“You’re shaking,” Bucky said, flatter than he meant to, almost too clinically, like an observation that left out the underlying concern he felt.

You nodded, trying to push out a smile despite the cracks in your lips. “Well, we are in Russia. K-Kinda known for being c-cold.”

Bucky swallowed, turning to check on Ivanov again who hadn’t moved from the window in his living room. He sighed, trying to work up some courage, and pushed the arm rest up between you until the front seat was more of a bench than two separate seats. Old cars had their advantages even if the insulation was shit.

He nodded for you to come closer, reaching out and gently tugging on the shoulder of your jacket. Your eyes darted down to where his hand gripped lightly at your sleeve, surprise clearly written on your features. You narrowed your eyes up at him, confused and Bucky licked his lips.

“Just come here, will ya?” Bucky requested nervously, a slight chuckle in his voice to mask the anxiety he felt. “You’re gonna freeze over there.”

“Are you—Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly, always so cautious with him in a way that made his stomach twist. “You don’t have to do that for me, Buck. I know it’s hard for you when people get too cl--”

“You’re not just ‘people,’” Bucky replied quicker than he meant to. He swallowed thickly, watching as a violent tremor swept up your spine and you grimaced, unable to suppress it for his sake, though you tried. Bucky sighed. “Please, Y/n, you’re turning blue. I need you to not freeze to death on me if we’re gonna get this guy. Let me save your life, doll.”

He pushed out a smile for you and it seemed to ease your reluctance. He knew why you were being so hesitant, though. A few months back, he had been thrown into a full-fledged panic attack in the heart of Brooklyn when an eight-year-old fan had rushed up and hugged him without warning. He kept it together long enough to not scare the poor kid, but you had to drag him down an alleyway away from the busy streets to help ground him again. It took you nearly twenty minutes to calm him down again and Bucky could see that same fear in your eyes now, like you might be the one to put him back in that state.

“I’m okay, Y/n. I can handle it,” he said sincerely before he reached forward and took one of your hands in his.

You were like ice and you practically sighed in relief as warmth radiated from his grip. He’d held your hand before, once, when you found him shaking in the middle of the night and he couldn’t handle more than the soft touch of your hand in his. It felt different now and not because your skin was frozen to the touch.

Bucky smiled as you squeezed his hand, searching for more of his heat. It was working.

“You’re a furnace,” you gasped, pressing the back of his hand to your cheeks and he nearly hissed from how cold you were.

“So come here, then,” he chuckled, pulling you closer by the hand and you laughed under the cold clouds of your breath, crawling closer to him.

It took a moment before you situated yourself, sitting stiffly at his side, still with a few inches between you. He’d spent too long keeping you at a distance that you were practically conditioned not to touch him, even if he was initiating it.

With a surge of confidence, Bucky reached around your lap and tucked his had around your outer thigh, scooting you closer until the length of your leg was pressed against his.

Your eyes were wide and he tried to hide the blush in his cheeks as he avoided your stare. He was thankful you allowed him to move you like a rag doll, letting him set you against his body where he was comfortable until your arm was crossed over his waist, tucked behind the open zipper of his jacket upon the thin fabric of his t-shirt until you could feel the ripple of his stomach muscles, and your head was leaning on his shoulder. Your right leg crossed your left until you were so curled up against him, he could feel your heartbeat from at least four different pulse points.

A sigh left your lips and you squeezed at his waist, nudging your head along his shoulder, almost purring, and it took away any lingering anxiety he felt. For the first time in years, he felt normal, like touch could be something for comfort instead of pain.

You were asleep within a few minutes, the warmth of your breath on his neck, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

He watched Ivanov pace for the rest of the night, listening contently to the soft vibrations of your breaths and tired not to focus on the pleasant twists in his stomach when you pulled him closer to you in your sleep.

***

A few more nights of curling up side by side in the front seat in search of shared warmth and Bucky decided he never wanted to be without your arms wrapped around him again.

Ivanov was taking longer to meet up with his supplier than anticipated so you spent more time holed up in that car together than either of you had planned for. Letting himself give into the need he had been suppressing for so long to be close to someone, to be close to you like this, to be held, was the only thing making the aching chill of the cold worth it. He'd submerge himself into ice water if it meant he could still come back to your arms.

You had stopped complaining about the freezing temperatures and you no longer shivered when you were pressed up against his side. It was nearly a week of sharing the warmth of your bodies as you continued the stakeout before you asked him a question that nearly made his heart stop.

“Do you wanna get a drink?”

Bucky stiffened immediately, though you didn’t seem to notice, still curled up against his side with your cheek pressed to his collarbone. He remembered Sam teasing him about this once; that ‘normal people’ went out on weekends and how asking to get a drink with someone was asking for a date.

Was that what you were doing? Did you want that with him? Why was he starting to sweat when there were icicles forming from the condensation on the car windows?

“Buck? You okay?” you asked cautiously, sitting up and he missed your warmth instantly. “If you’re worried about Ivanov, I’ve got a monitoring system set up so we’ll know if he leaves his apartment. He hasn’t left that living room in days. We should be fine for just one drink, at least. It’ll help warm us up. Please?”

The way you were looking at him with pleading eyes and an eager smile brimming on your lips, Bucky didn’t know how he could possibly deny you. Your smile could make him do just about anything.

“Y-yeah okay."

The spark of joy that lit up your features was enough to push aside any concern he had over the mission and bypass the nervous energy consuming his veins. He stopped thinking about Sam’s stupid comment and tried to ignore the jolt in his heart as you grinned at him.

“Great! There’s a bar across the street,” you pointed out and Bucky chuckled, realizing you had been thinking about this for longer than he thought. “Come on!”

You pushed open the car door with a heavy kick to break through the ice that had formed on the creases of the latch and a brush of freezing air swept into the car. Bucky quickly stumbled out after you, tucking his hands into his pockets and nearly fell a few paces back as you collided against him, wrapping your arms around his waist to keep warm in the few steps it took to cross the street.

A few months ago, that might have thrown him into a state of shock or stolen the breath from his lungs, but now, he only started to laugh. He surprised himself as removed his right hand from his pocket and draped it around your shoulders.

He held open the door for you as you walked into the bar to find dim lighting and the clicking of pool balls as two heavy set men with long, unkempt beards paced around the green felt table. There was no music playing and a total of three people inside the bar, including the bar tender, but it was warm enough for you to shrug off your jacket so Bucky was satisfied.

You hovered over the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice you, though he didn’t look up in your direction until Bucky stood by your side. He made eye contact with Bucky and draped the towel over his shoulder as he started to make his way down the bar. You scoffed, muttering something under your breath about the man’s very clear misogynist attitude that made Bucky chuckle quietly.

Considering you didn’t speak Russian, Bucky quickly ordered your favorite drink and a bourbon for himself. He tried not to notice the way you grinned to yourself as the Russian rolled seamlessly off his tongue. Only, the bartender didn’t respond. He stared blankly back at him and Bucky narrowed his eyes, wondering if maybe he had used the wrong dialect, until he took notice of the series of bottles behind the bar, all filled with a clear liquid.

He nodded in understanding and ordered two vodkas, straight.

“This is what we get for agreeing to a mission in Russia,” you muttered, taking the glass as the bartender attempted to hand it to Bucky. The bartender’s eyes trailed down from your face, lower than any decent man would stare without reservation and Bucky quickly paid for the drinks, not wanting this man to look at you with such hunger any more than he already had.

By the time he opened the tab, you had already retreated back to a booth in the far corner of the bar, hidden in shadows and nursing your drink with a sour face. Bucky smiled, noticing the twists in his stomach that came along whenever he seemed to look at you these days, and grabbed his drink from the bar.

He attempted to sit across the table from you but you grabbed onto the sleeve of his jacket, tugging him until he slid into the bench beside you. He didn’t even stop to notice how easily he had grown used to your touch, that your quick grasp onto his jacket didn’t even take him by surprised.

“You still cold?” he asked carefully, moving to run his hand along your arm in hopes to warm you but you shook your head.

“Just like sitting next to you,” you replied casually and it made Bucky’s heart jump. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yeah, ‘course,” he stuttered nervously. For the first time in years it wasn’t because of the close quarters he sat in with you, but because being around you made his stomach twist and his heart skip beats and placed a smile on his lips that hadn’t curved up for such extended periods of time it was started to ache in his cheeks.

You made him nervous for reasons outside of his trauma. You made him nervous because he wanted you to touch him more, because he wanted to spend all of his time with you, because he started to find himself looking at your lips and wondering what they would feel like against his own.

“So how mad do you think Steve would be if he found out we left our post for a drink?” you smirked as you took a sip from your glass, though you couldn’t hold back the grimace that followed. Still, you took another swig before Bucky could answer. You were just so damn endearing he wondered how it was possible he didn’t let himself be close to you like this before Russia.

“What Steve doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Bucky laughed. “Besides, he’s been trying to get me to go out for months. It’s not my fault I decided to do it while in some nowhere town in Russia while on the clock.”

“There’s that rebellious spirit I’ve heard so much about,” you beamed, nudging him in his side until he broke out into laughter. The two men at the pool table turned and glared at the two of you and Bucky waved them off, which only made you laugh harder.

***

Two hours later as Bucky was on his second drink and you on your third, you started to play absentmindedly with his left arm. Delicate fingers traced over the gold shine of the detailing and the dark grey of the plates. Humming quietly to yourself, Bucky wondered how it was possible to have known someone like you, whose touch brought him something other than fear and pain, who only looked at him with kindness and wonder, who saw his arm as something of beauty rather than an instrument of violence.

“Can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” you whispered softly, under your breath, almost as if you were voicing the thoughts in your head aloud without realizing it. You turned his hand over in yours, tracing at what would be the lifeline in his palm.

Bucky parted his lips to say something, anything, but nothing seemed to come out as you carefully moved your hand up his forearm and over his bicep, just exploring. It was different in his left arm, didn’t feel it the way he might have in his right, but it still sent shivers up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold outside the walls of the bar.

“Is it just the alcohol?” you asked quietly, a sliver of disappointment in your voice as your hand brushed over his neck, thumb tracing along the scruff on his jaw and he sighed into you, leaning against your hand as if searching for more, and he was.

You wore a sad smile that broke Bucky’s heart.

“Would you let me do this if you were sober?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, surprised by your questions and the ache in your voice he wasn’t used to. It didn’t seem to occur to you that the alcohol didn’t affect him like it did before the war, not with the serum, but your concern that maybe that was the only reason he would let you near him like this, even after how close he let you in the car, twisted in his heart.

He wondered then if maybe you longed for him the way he so desperately longed for you, too.

Bucky thought back to all the times you asked him to watch movies with you late at night and how you’d sit by him with a bowl of popcorn between you, how you’d bring him up to the roof to watch the stars and make sure to sit on a separate lawn chair, though you dragged it close enough to be near. You were so observant with him, so in tune to his needs and offering your hand to him in the moments that touch wasn’t just wanted, it was needed.

He remembered suddenly how bright you’d smile whenever he caught your eye across the room, how your cheeks would flush when Sam teased you about the late-night trips to the roof, and how you defended him with every breath you had to a hoard of freshmen agents who gossiped too loudly about his time as the winter soldier as you walked by.

Lost in his own thoughts, your hand started to fall from Bucky’s face in his absence of an answer and you began to turn away sadly. But then, Bucky’s hand jumped up to yours, holding it steady against him. You looked to him, surprised, lips parting and Bucky swore he could hear your heart beating.

“It’s different with you,” Bucky tried to explain, his voice hoarse, “it’s always been different with you. I didn’t realize how much I needed this, needed someone to just... touch me. But it’s not just someone, it’s you. I need it to be you.”

A breath left you, stunned, and your thumb traced in careful strokes over his jawline enough to draw a gasp from him. Eyes flickering down to his lips, Bucky swore his heart might have stopped. He didn’t want to consider if it was too much too soon because nothing ever felt wrong when he was with you. He started to lean in, watched as you closed your eyes, but his gaze flickered to your drink on the table and he pulled back abruptly.

“What is it?” you asked carefully, concerned, but he didn’t reply right away. Your eyes widened in a realization he didn’t catch onto and you quickly pulled your hand from the side of his face. He already missed the feel of your hand. “Oh God, I shouldn’t have pushed you, Buck, I’m so--”

“You’re drinking,” Bucky stated quietly, nodding to your glass but you were rapidly shaking your head.

“It’s water,” you said in a breath of relief and Bucky narrowed his eyes, “the last two have been water. Need at least a relatively clear head for this job, don’t I?”

“Oh.”

So, this was real?

Bucky’s heart was thumping in his chest, so loud, so painful, he was sure it might explode from the cavity and jump right out into your lap. It belonged to you, anyway, he realized.

The surveillance cam sitting on the table was quiet, the blip on the monitor your signal to Ivanov’s safe location in his apartment. Suddenly, Bucky couldn’t focus on the mission or the sound of the pool balls clicking behind him as the men started their fourth game. He didn’t notice the stale smell of musk or the bartender grumbling under his breath from behind the bar. He couldn’t focus on anything but you, anything but your lips and he’d never wanted to touch anyone so badly in his life.

You called his name carefully, hand settling on his cheek again to draw his attention, and it jolted something within him, enough so that his hands snaked up against your neck and gently pulled you to him until the warmth of his breath ghosted against your lips.

He was breathing fast, shallow, but electricity was in his veins for the right reasons and as he gazed upon the soft look in your eye, he let himself press forward. Impossibly gentle and chaste, he parted his lips to yours, encasing your bottom lip between his own and you tasted of wasted months and longing and something stronger than the desire he felt for you, something like love.

One taste wasn’t enough for him and he kissed you again, not giving himself even a moment for air, and the soft whimper from your lips as your hands raked down his back was enough to make him crave more. He needed to hear more of that, needed to feel you everywhere, needed you to touch him where his clothes were obstructing his body.

“Bucky,” you murmured into his mouth, kissing the corner of his lips, his cheekbone, until you pulled back breathless.

He decided he loved the way your lips had swollen, that he wanted to make sure they looked like that all the time because he didn’t want to spend another moment not kissing you. He pushed forward and kissed at your neck as you tried to speak and giggled as your fingers began to comb through his hair, urging him on.

“Bucky,” you called again and he pulled back reluctantly.

The pout on his face made your smile stretch to touch your ears. You nodded to the bartender who was sending the two of you a death glare. Bucky groaned, grabbing your hand and helping you slide out from the booth. He threw your jacket over your shoulders and quickly led you to the door in the back of the bar as fast as his feet could carry him.

“Where are we going?” you laughed, holding onto the com alerting you to Ivanov’s location. Still in his apartment.

“Upstairs,” Bucky replied, opening the door to find a woman standing at a desk behind it. A whole another room you clearly weren’t expecting.

Bucky mumbled some Russian and handed her some money before she placed a key in his hand. The grin on your face as you realized what he was doing had Bucky all but restraining himself not to pick you up and carry you the rest of the way.

He led you up the stairs, hand grasped tightly in your own until he reached the door he was looking for. Nervously fumbling with the key, he stole a glance over at you to find you biting back a laugh. The second he got the door open, he hulled you inside and caged you against the wall, kicking the door shut behind him.

His lips were on yours again in an instant, his hands running up and down your sides, touching and caressing over parts of you he kept himself from even imagining the feel of. His hands slid over curves and ridges, ripples and dimples, every part of you and it still wasn’t enough.

You were breathless, your own hands raking over his shoulders, in his hair, on his face, down his abs, and he never wanted you to stop. He started to reach for the hem of your shirt when you pulled away sharply.

Bucky froze, suddenly realizing what he was doing. It was like one touch ignited something within him and everything else became a blur. In all your concern for him, he never stopped to consider if it was too much for you. Panic swept through his chest and he backed away.

“Shit, I-I'm sorry. Do you—do you want to stop?” Bucky stuttered out awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head.

“No, God no, Buck,” you replied quickly, crossing the room to stand against him again. His knees caught on the edge of the bed and he fell against the mattress as you stepped between his legs. You pushed the hair from his eyes, smiling down at him. “This is just a lot for you, so soon, and I want to make sure you’re okay, that this is what you want.”

Bucky swallowed, letting his hands brush around your waist, tracing down the curve of your ass and along your thighs. He looked up at you, a kind of relief in him he hadn’t felt in years.

“Don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” he confessed quietly, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand.

Months of pent up emotions were spilling out of him at once. All this time of wanting to be close to you and never allowing himself the chance, too afraid of what might happen, of the possibility of your touch being anything other than the magic he imagined it to be.

You thought quietly for a moment before moving to straddle his waist. “You’ll tell me if it gets to be too much.”

It wasn’t a question, but a demand. Bucky nodded eagerly.

He hadn’t been with a woman since before the war and even then, none of them made him feel in his highest peak even an ounce of what he felt simply kissing you.

As you leaned back to tug all three layers of your shirts and sweaters over your heat, Bucky was met with awe. Goosebumps prickled along your skin even in the heat of the room and Bucky was quick to run his hands along your exposed skin in aid of warmth.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the hill of your breast as you reached behind you to unclasp the remaining fabric covering your chest. Nipples hardening under the cool air and from the anticipation of Bucky’s thumbs carefully brushing against them, he watched as you closed your eyes in a content sigh.

Though as a shiver raked up your spine, Bucky quickly gathered you in his arms and tossed you under the covers. Your laughter echoed through the room and Bucky swore he never heard a more beautiful sound.

Crawling in behind you and settling down with the warmth of the sheets over his back, he brushed the hair away from your face, taking just a second longer to memorize the flush of your cheeks and the warm smile upon your lips as you stared up at him.

Anticipation itching in his skin combined with the exhilaration of your hands along the bare of his arms, his back, his chest, and the remainder of clothes were shed, tossed aside until the entirety of him laid against you. He closed his eyes, holding onto the moment that you gave him the chance to feel something other than fear or pain, to maybe feel something of pleasure.

He kissed along your neck, not having the proper words to thank you, and parted your legs as he adjusted himself between them. You reached down between you and as your hand wrapped around his length he gasped, shocked by the sensation.

“You okay?” you asked sweetly, kissing his cheek.

He nodded, lips parting and even though your hand hardly even moved, he was sure he was going to come from your touch on him alone.

“More than okay, doll.”

You grinned as he leaned down to kiss you.

It all happened so fast after that and Bucky couldn’t give himself time to savor and process because all he could think about was your hands and your mouth and the clench of your walls as he sank into you. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck as he rolled his hips, biting back moans and gasping with each pulse inside of you.

All the while, you whispered sweet praises in his ear, told him how much you adored him, let your hands roam down his back, gripped at his shoulders, until you started to rub circles at your clit and Bucky swore he saw stars. The clench of you around him was blinding, sending rushes of heat and waves of a kind of pleasure he hadn’t experienced in years.

It only took a few thrusts before you came around him, holding him tight to your chest as he chased his own release. The whimpers of your moans and the achingly sweet cry in your voice were enough for Bucky to reach his edge and he spilled into you, kissing at your neck as he rolled his hips to prolong the release.

When he finally stilled, he let himself rest on your chest, curling his arms around your shoulders and pressing a chaste kiss to your jawline. He sighed contently, heart pounding and mind a little hazy. Your fingers began to slowly comb through his hair, drawing shivers down his spine simply from your touch.

“How do you feel?” you asked breathily, a slight laugh in your voice that made Bucky’s heart swell.

He lifted himself from your chest just enough to press a kiss to your lips before settling back in, smiling as he could hear the sound of your heart beating under his ear.

“Like I’ve been wasting a lot of time not letting you touch me, doll.”

***

No one could have predicted that Ivanov would spend another two weeks holed up in his apartment, relentlessly pacing back and forth and attending to paperwork at his desk for hours on end. Though, despite Fury’s offer to send agents to relieve you and Bucky from your posts, you both hastily declined. You didn’t inform him it was the frequent trips to the motel above the bar that incentivized you to stay.

Bucky didn’t know how he could have possibly gone so long holding back from you. It was like you brought him back to life and now he simply couldn’t stay away from you. Even sitting in that damn car all day and night when Ivanov was too active to let the two of you escape to the motel for an hour, he kept his hand on your thigh, or circling your knee, or sitting draped over your shoulders as you curled up against his side.

There had been a few times when the nights were too long and you released him from the zipper of his pants and worked him over with your hands or your mouth until he came, gripping onto your hair and the grab handle hanging above the driver’s window.

Your touch was unlike anything else.

It sent fire through him and calmed him and made his heart beat out of his chest. He didn’t once consider that your hands could bring him pain or suffering the way he had been conditioned to believe for decades. You were soft and gentle and beyond anything that he deserved but he gave himself over you to dozens of time because he simply couldn’t get enough.

Even to touch you was like heaven. The trust it took and the willingness to allow his hands, hands that had tortured and killed, to touch you and bring you to the edge of something joyous, something pleasurable, was unparalleled.

He treasured the nights where you’d curl against him and his right hand would slip under the band of your pants, running delicately between your thighs and coaxing you until you were moaning such beautiful sounds Bucky was sure he’d never be able to sit in silence again.

Even now as he sat in the driver’s seat of the car, one hand on the binoculars and the other resting on your thigh, Bucky was sure he’d crumble if he ever lost you. You were his anchor. Your hold on him keeping his mind and body firm on the surface before he sank to the depths of the oceans or floated high above the clouds. You were his lifeline.

“Do you think we’ll be here forever?” you huffed with a teasing smile, arms folded over your chest as you tucked your chin further into your scarf. You glanced up at Ivanov who was pacing in front of his window again.

“Don’t think I’d mind if we were.” Bucky smiled, shrugging, and tugged on your thighs to pull you closer to him. “I could spend an eternity here if I get to keep holding you like this, doll.”

“We can still do that on a side of the world where it’s not this freezing, you know,” you laughed, nudging his side as you scooted closer against him.

Bucky swallowed nervously, stiffening though you didn’t seem to notice.

“You-- you want to still do this back home?” He was afraid suddenly, his chest growing cold.

But the soft glow of your smile saved him from falling into the darkest corners of his mind as your hand gently reached up to cup at the side of his face. Your thumb brushed against the hairs on his beard, bringing his lips tenderly to your own. It was chaste and impossibly short, but as you pulled back, the warmth in your eyes was enough to melt the fear in Bucky’s heart.

“I want every part of you, Buck,” you said. “I want you here and I want you at home.”

Bucky bit on his lip, chewing over dried skin, because he knew what he wanted with you. He wanted everything.

“I want to go on dates and hold your hand in public,” you continued dreamily and Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. “I want to curl up on the couch with you and train with you and take you to all my favorite restaurants and walk with you in Central Park. I want it all, Buck. If you want it, too.”

Bucky could hardly believe what he was hearing. He was dreaming, he was sure of it, because he never imagined those words would ever come from your mouth.

The way you were watching him so eagerly awaiting his response made his stomach flutter. He hadn’t felt like that since he was a teenager pining after a pretty girl at school. You gave him back a kind of innocence he’d lost in his decades under Hydra. You made him human again.

“There is nothing I want more,” he sighed, a relief washing over him and he leaned in to kiss the smile tugging so beautifully across your lips when suddenly, the red blinking light of the monitor caught his attention.

Bucky pulled back abruptly, checking the dash to find it was the perimeter light that was engaged. You pointed at a figure coming down the steps of Ivanov’s apartment and the red sedan's lights that flashed as the doors unlocked.

This was what the two of you had been waiting on for weeks now. Timing wasn’t great, but it never really was. Without another word, Bucky nodded, turning on the ignition of the car and manually disengaging the headlights.

He waited a moment after Ivanov pulled out from his parking space before switching the car into drive and pulling out from the alleyway. You kept a careful watch on the monitors on the dash, checking the GPS and the communicating your route back to Fury.

Bucky followed Ivanov for nearly twenty minutes, keeping a steady distance behind him as to not draw attention. Ivanov led him outside of the town lines, down an abandoned road, and onto the off-road, which didn’t support the surveillance vehicle well. On his left he passed a cabin with the lights off.

“Where the hell is he taking us?” you huffed, pulling your gun from the glove compartment as the car ahead rolled to a stop. Bucky pulled the car over to the side of the dirt path, turning off the ignition and you clenched your jaw. “Do you think we’ve been made?”

“Not sure,” Bucky replied, reaching for his own weapons and strapping them to the holsters on his pants and jacket, “guess we’re about to find out.”

Out ahead, Ivanov stepped out from his car, a hand gun visible in his right hand as he slammed the door shut. From your positioning, he shouldn’t be able to see your car in the dark like this, even as he turned to check his surroundings. He looked straight at the car and didn’t seemed to be alarmed in the slightest. He must have looked right past it.

Then, Ivanov turned to the forest.

“Looks like we’re following him on foot,” Bucky grumbled as Ivanov started to follow a path into the woods.

You groaned a little dramatically and Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he pushed open his door, offering his hand to help you slide out the seat. The cool air must have hit you like a brick wall because your arms quickly moved to wrap around your waist, face pressing into Bucky’s chest as he closed the door behind you.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky chuckled, starting to walk in Ivanov’s direction with you huddled to his chest.

After a few paces, you reluctantly pulled yourself from Bucky’s embrace and positioned your gun out ahead of you, ready to fire if needed. You were on a mission, after all.

Following Ivanov’s shadow in the distance through the twists and turns of the snow-covered forest, even Bucky started to feel the chill of the cold air. Ice crystals started to form on his beard from his exhales and his right hand was starting to feel numb. He was about to suggest going on the offensive to get this over with before the two of you froze to death just as Ivanov suddenly took off running.

“Shit, we’ve been made,” you cursed and suddenly you were sprinting off after him before Bucky could even warn you to wait.

Weaving in and out of the forest, Bucky followed closely on your heels until the sound of running water replaced the crunching of the snow under his boots and you pulled to a sudden stop at the edge of a bridge after Ivanov’s shadow had long disappeared from view.

You groaned, resting your arms on the crown of your head to find your breath. You winced with every inhale as the cold air burned in your lungs. “Where the hell did he go?!”

Bucky shook his head, just as lost. He narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better view beyond the bridge, but came up empty.

Beside him, you froze suddenly; stiff and rigid and before Bucky could turn and ask what was wrong, a dark voice in a thick accent behind him called out over the rush of river’s current ahead.

“Looking for me, princess?”

Bucky spun around to find Ivanov standing just behind you with the barrel of his gun pressed into the nape of your neck, his hand squeezing your shoulder to keep you still. He grinned at Bucky, yellowed teeth and a gold canine behind a long wiry beard.

You winced as he dug the barrel of the gun harder against your neck and your hands shot up to your sides defensively. He pried the gun from your right hand and tossed it over the bridge and into the river. The same went for the smaller one strapped to your thigh, his hands ghosting over your hip a few seconds too long.

Bucky’s hands were shaking. He was fuming.

“You, stay here,” Ivanov demanded, nodding to Bucky as he pushed you forward.

“Let her go!” Bucky called out, keeping his aim trained on Ivanov but you were obstructing his scope. It was too risky to take a shot. He was helpless as Ivanov lead you out to the center of the bridge.

“Can’t do that!” Ivanov shouted, glancing down at the water as he held you firm in his grip. “Not when the two of you have been watching me for weeks! My supplier won’t appreciate that I’ve had a tail and I think it’s about time I cut it off.”

Bucky readjusted his positioning, his grip on the handle of the gun aching in his right hand. He tried to take a step closer and Ivanov fired a warning shot into the air, causing you to flinch and Bucky stilled immediately.

“You don’t gotta hurt her, Ivanov,” Bucky urged, trying to keep his voice calm despite the rage of panic in his veins, “you can take me. You know who I am, don’t you? Let her go and you can have me. Imagine how much money you could get for the winter soldier.”

Your eyes widened, about to protest, when Ivanov began to laugh; a sound so harsh and cruel it struck an unpleasant nerve in Bucky’s chest.

“You think I’m foolish enough to go near Hydra?” he shouted, shaking his head, almost amused.

“If you want to take this out on someone, use me!” Bucky called out, voice shaking though it wasn’t from the cold. He met your eyes and they were wide and filled with tears, though you struggled to form words. “Let her go. Just take me.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you, too,” Ivanov smirked, “but I’m starting with the girl.”

Bucky only saw red. A snarl ripped through him before he could quite stop it and he fired a single bullet at the only ounce of a clean shot he could find. It clipped at the edge of Ivanov’s shoulder and he let out a yelp, allowing you to stumble away from him in the shock of it.

Bucky sprinted towards you, his feet carrying him as fast as they possibly could, but it wouldn’t be enough. You were unsteady on your feet from the sudden echo of the gunfire and the bullet that whizzed by your arm and plunged into Ivanov.

Ivanov, with one hand gripping onto a bloody shoulder, took your moment of surprise to his advantage and shoved you hard towards the railing. No time to react, you tried to fight back but he knocked you over the head with his gun, dizzying you as your eyes drifted closed. He shoved you, again, enough for your upper body to sway over the railing.

“No!” Bucky howled, desperate to reach you in time but you were already slipping over the edge. He screamed out, firing four shouts straight into Ivanov’s chest and chucked his gun aside as the arms dealer collapsed to the ground, bloody.

He lunged to grab you as you fell backwards, your hand slipping through his for an impossible second and Bucky’s stomach plummeted along with you as you fell into the freezing water.

No time to think, reacting purely on adrenaline, Bucky climbed up onto the railing and dove in after you.

If he had been in any other state of mind, the jolt of the ice-cold water might have thrown him into a panic attack or a violent flashback or rendered him into a version of himself he wouldn’t recognize. It might have ripped him from his body and replaced him with the soldier because it was under ice as cold as this that Hydra kept him alive all those years.

As he used every ounce of his strength to push through the water, fighting against the burning cold encasing around him and numbing his body, he kept his focus on you. The water was too dark but he reached and searched and couldn’t find you anywhere. His lungs were on fire and he breached the surface for a gasp of air before he dove back down.

It was taking too long, you’d been under too long, and Bucky was panicking in a way he never had before. The lump in the back of his throat might have choked him if it wasn’t for the dark figure he spotted floating a few feet to his right. Swimming as fast as he could and grabbing on before the current could pull you away, Bucky felt the heavy weight of your jacket and he lost all of the air in his lungs as he cried out in relief.

Dragging you up the surface, Bucky hulled you onto the frozen beach as fast as he could. Your hair stuck to the sides of your face, skin losing its color and ice to the touch. Through shaking hands, Bucky ripped down the zipper of your jacket until he could get his hands as close to your sternum as he could. Terrified of his own strength but too desperate not to lose you, he started compressions.

Every thirty seconds, he’d carefully bend down and breath into your lungs, lips pressing to yours but they felt nothing like they should, not like the lips he’d come to memorize. They were too cold, frozen, and Bucky had to stifle a cry every time he touched them.

“Come on!” Bucky begged, his voice shaking as he forced your heart to beat for you. “Come back! Don’t do this to me! Don’t-- Don’t do this--”

It took nearly four minutes before you started choking on the water in your lungs. Bucky quickly rushed to help sit you up and turn to the side, rubbing circles on your back to help you cough the water away. His hands were shaking violently as he turned you to face him. The coughing ceased but you were still unconscious, though breathing. Your lips were turning blue.

Gathering you up in his arms, Bucky quickly scrambled back up to the path. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to take you to escape this cold, but he sprinted back to the car anyway. He could blast the hot air and turn the car into a sauna if he had to. It had a tracking unit on it so Fury could send for a jet as soon as he called.

Lungs aching from the cold and your unconscious body limp in his arms, Bucky could barely keep his thoughts straight. He passed through the edge of the forest and finally spotted the car in the distance, only a fire was burning from the engine.

“Fuck,” he gaped, realizing one of Ivanov’s men must have covered his tracks.

Standing at the edge of the forest, shivering, and holding you as tight to his chest as he could manage, Bucky nearly let out a scream in frustration before he remembered the cabin he had spotted just half a mile back. It was his last hope. He needed to get you out of the cold before it consumed you whole.

His legs were aching by the time he reached the front door but he managed to kick it in anyway, not bothering to knock or check if anyone was home. The driveway was absent of cars and there wasn’t a single light illuminated in the windows, anyway. Kicking the door shut behind him, Bucky quickly brought you over to the living room and laid you on the couch.

Scrambling around him for blankets, he realized there was a fireplace in the center of the room; his first bit of good luck in nearly a century. It took only a few moments before he got a spark to ignite on the logs and Bucky’s face broke out into a smile that cracked his lips.

As the fire started to grow and illuminate the room in warm shades of golds and reds, he set a blanket on the ground by the fireplace, patting it down a few times and trying to layer it enough to find some cushioning. Once satisfied, he paused, looking up to you to find your arm hanging limply over the edge of the couch and a ghostly look about you that set a dread back in his stomach.

He rushed to you, gathering you in his arms and brought you down by the fire. Your skin was ice cold and Bucky nearly hissed at the feeling of it as he helped ease you along the blankets. The heat of the flames wasn’t enough though, not with the damp layers of clothing sticking to your skin and preventing the fire from warming your body.

“Okay, okay, I can do this. I’ve got you, doll,” Bucky started mumbling to himself, nodding, knowing what he had to do.

There was no time to preserve modesty and he’d seen you naked enough times on this trip to hope that you’d forgive him for removing your clothing when this was all over, when you survived this and he could hear the sweet tone of your voice again, even if you were angry with him.

He pulled the knife from his boot and cut straight through your clothes, terrified to wait even a second longer. He peeled the sopping wet material from your skin only to find it covered in goosebumps and several shades too close to transparency. You weren’t shaking, weren’t shivering, and it wasn’t a good sign. It meant your body was too far gone to even attempt to warm itself with muscle spasms.

Once the rest of your clothing was tossed away, he threw a separate blanket on top of you while he started to strip his own clothes. Water dripped onto the carpet below as he tossed his shirt aside. Shivers swept up his spine as he started to remove his pants, then his boxers, until he was bare. He quickly rung out his hair a few paces away from you to keep the excess water away and crawled in under the blanket beside you.

Body heat. Skin to skin. It was the quickest way to share body heat and if you didn’t warm up soon, your internal organs would start failing, your heart would give out again, and Bucky might lose you for good. It wasn’t an option. He couldn’t even begin to stand the idea of it.

So, he pulled you onto his chest, leaning you heavily on his right side and keeping the cold of his left arm as far from you as he could manage. He winced as he pressed your body tight to his, like holding a block of ice straight to the bare of his skin.

“Okay, love, come on now,” he whispered, squeezing your hair out onto a cloth and throwing it over with the rest of his clothes once it wasn’t sopping wet with ice water from the river. He wrapped his right arm around you, intertwining his legs in yours and doing everything he could to warm you.

“It’s time to wake up, sweetheart,” he begged, feeling the lump burning in the back of his throat again.

He cupped at the side of your face but your skin was still frozen, the color drained from the flush in your cheeks he adored so much. Your breaths were shallow and he tried to focus on the beat of your heart but it was faint and getting weaker.

“Don’t leave me,” Bucky gasped, kissing at your forehead and holding you so tight against him he thought he might hurt you. Tears slipped down his cheeks before he even realized he was crying.

“Please, Y/n. You can’t leave me now. Not after all this. Please, love, come back to me. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

***

An hour later as your skin returned to its natural hue and the ice left your veins, you still hadn’t woken up. Bucky kept you firm on his chest, rocking you slightly, and finally allowing his left hand to hold you from over the blanket as it had absorbed the heat of the fire the same way it had taken on the chill of the ice.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried in a hushed whispered, voice broken and aching because he’d been saying for twenty minutes straight, “I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry. I’m--”

A soft rustle in his arms and Bucky’s heart nearly stopped. You moaned softly, curling up against him like you were readjusting your position in your sleep and wrapped your arm over his waist; slight movement of your arms, the curl of your legs pushing between his is search of his warmth.

“Y/n?”

You swallowed, scrunching your nose as your eyes fluttered open as if from a long nap. Bucky swore he’d never seen a more beautiful shade in his life as you took in your surroundings through narrowed eyes, confused. You licked at your dried lips and Bucky could see a thousand questions formulating in your mind but a shiver swept up your spine and caused you to bite your tongue.

“Cold,” you muttered, gripping onto Bucky tighter and he nearly cried in relief.

“I know, doll, I’ve got you,” he replied, biting on his lip to suppress the sob etching its way to the surface. You must have noticed the strain in his voice because you lifted your head from his chest to gaze down at him, tilting your head slightly at what you saw.

"Have you been crying?” you asked carefully, reaching up to brush the tracks of tears from his cheeks. He clenched his jaw, embarrassed and ashamed, until you pressed a kiss to his cheek and your lips felt like they should again, soft and pillowy and warm. “Bucky, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“How much do you remember?” he gritted out, unable to stop a tear as it spilled from the corner of his eye, though you wiped it away before it could get very far.

“Ivanov. The bridge. Falling.” You sighed, eyes closing and realizing what happened before Bucky could explain. “You jumped in after me, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“You saved my life.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. “You could have died, Bucky.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, trying to hold back the lump in his throat and the flood of emotion surging through him but as you gently cupped the side of his face, urging him to meet your eye and he found nothing but warm and love behind them, he broke.

“I- I couldn’t let you drown,” he stammered out, tears welling in his eyes again, “and—and that water was so cold, Y/n, even when I revived you, you-- you wouldn’t wake up. I thought—I thought you were— You almost—”

“I’m here,” you whispered soothingly, cutting him off before he could spiral. You smiled at him, a flush of warmth in your cheeks and color renewed to your lips. You leaned in and kissed him softly, drawing a breath from him and easing the racing beat in his heart.

As you pulled away, you kissed his nose, his cheekbones, his jawline, until you settled back in against his chest. “I’m right here, Buck. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, trying to convince himself and he held you tight against him.

“We should try to get word to Fury that we’ve been compromised,” Bucky said reluctantly after some time. You hummed in agreement, though you made no effort to move away from him.

“Just stay here a little while longer,” you asked in a voice so sweet Bucky didn’t even have to think twice about it. “It’s the middle of the night back home. Fury can wait until morning. Let me lay with you.”

Bucky smiled softly, tugging you close to him and kissing the crown of your head.

Touch became a kind of anchor he never even considered before you. There would have been a time a few months back where the idea of lying this close to someone, so exposed and vulnerable, would have terrified him. But now, as he held you in his embrace, Bucky relished in a security and peace he hadn’t known in decades.

Your arms wove around his waist, clinging onto him as the entirety of your body pulled flesh against him. You tucked your nose into the crook of his neck and he could feel the smile on your lips, the warmth of your breath on his skin, the gentle vibration of your hums.

The wood crackled in the fireplace beside him, soft hues of the light illuminating the room and casting a glow along the bare of your back as the blanket hung down by your waist, the heat of his body and the fire enough to sustain you, and Bucky was sure he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

“Sleep, Buck,” you urged in a tired yawn before you pressed a kiss to his neck and snuggled in tighter.

Bucky nodded, feeling the exhaustion starting to pull him under and he let his eyes flutter closed. Lost in nothing but the heat of the flames and the feel of your body against him, encasing him, holding him, he drifted off to sleep.

Warm and soft, safe.

Cold, cold water surrounds me now And all I've got is your hand Lord, can you hear me now? Or am I lost? -- Damien Rice

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #star’s multi fandom follower celebration #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel

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oblivious-embodied · 4 years ago

Text

A Miraculous Journey of Self Discovery

Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir: Rewritten, Trans AU.

A long time ago, I decided to make my own rewrite of the Miraculous Ladybug show, do it in my own way so that things could progress the way I would like, for characters to grow and develop in personality and strength. Write my own way for the miraculous to be empowered, to be a bigger deal, to mean more than what they mean in the show. And, along the way, I saw @wintertundra-art's Trans Adrien and Marinette AU, and I wanted to see if I could incorporate that into this rewrite. And, with her permission and cooperation, I was able to get the first chapter, Origins: Part One completed! I'm excited to see where this goes from here!

So, as a christmas gift to you all, Enjoy a miraculous rewrite, and trans representation! If you haven't already, go check out @wintertundra-art and her wonderful AU! And, if you have any questions, feel free to send me an ask too.

I’ve decided to rate it as Teen and Up Audiences, and you can read it here on AO3! It currently sits at 12,265 words

Origins: Part One

(Summary: Eons ago, powerful artifacts were forged, infused with power that humans can only dream of, they were made to be anchors to beings of immense power. Centuries ago, two of the more powerful miraculous were lost, the Butterfly of Emotion and the Peacock of Soul. Now, the Butterfly has been awoken, and is in the hands of someone who want's to corrupt the Butterfly's power and use it for their own nefarious wants. The only way to stop this from happening is to bring balance, and only the most powerful Miraculous can do so: The Black Cat of Destruction, and the Ladybug of Creation. )

A man opens up a broach, revealing the smiling image of a blonde haired, green eyed woman. His breath hitches just a bit as he locks eyes with her image. With slightly shaking hands, he closes the broach and he looks to a floating, violet creature with big, purple eyes, and a swirl on its head that is the same shade as its eyes. Little butterfly wings extend from its back.

“Nooroo,” his tone is sharp, cold, calculating. Terrifying. “Tell me where to find the other Miraculous.”

“I-I do not know...” the being named Nooroo answers, bowing its head slightly.

The man narrows his eyes.

Several thousand years ago, possibly eons ago, powerful pieces of magical jewelry were forged, each serving as an anchor to beings of extreme power. Beings that are the embodiment of concepts that the minds of simple humans can’t even begin to comprehend, concepts like The Four Elements, The Mind, The Heart, The Soul, The Body, Energy, and even of Destruction and Creation itself.

These jewels were named ‘Miraculous’. They can’t be destroyed; whether that is due to the material they are made from, or the bonds they have with the beings, known as kwami, no one knows.

These Miraculous were created for the sole purpose of aiding the human race. And with their use, myths and legends of large, humanoid creatures, capable of unfathomable feats of strength and power arose.

And according to legend, whoever holds both of the two most powerful Miraculous, the anchors to the beings of Destruction and Creation, Death and Life, will be as powerful as a god.

And with that power, the ability to do whatever they want.

And he must have these Miraculous. He must have the power to become God.

His life, his happiness, all he’s worked for, all he’s done, the fate of his family, it all depends on him getting those Miraculous.

“Very well.” He says finally, but he turns his cold gaze to the poor being. “Tell me, Nooroo, what are the properties of your Miraculous.”

The being named Nooroo looks up at this man, its eyes weary. “That is the Miraculous of the Butterfly. It derives its power from the heart; it will allow you to sense the emotions of anyone around you in a certain radius, and through this you will be able to give others powers and abilities. These people will then become your devoted followers, your champions.” Nooroo straightens back up, puffing out its little chest.

A sickening smile creeps its way across the man’s face. “You are saying, Nooroo, that I can give supernatural powers to the ordinary; and they will, in turn, do anything I tell them to do.” It isn’t a question. It’s a statement. His mind is already circulating with different situations. At this, Nooroo deflates a bit, drooping.

“W-well, no, not really. You can give powers to someone you deem fit, but you can’t really control them. They’ll just be able to communicate with you, and vice versa, and you will be able to help them along the way.”

The smile does not leave the man’s face, “You said your powers are derived from the heart, yes?” Nooroo nods, it’s eyes widening. “I may not be able to control them directly... but I can to some degree.”

At this, Nooroo’s eyes fly open, his mouth dropping open. “Th-that’s-that’s not what the butterfly is intended-“

“I will do what I want!” The man cuts in, his tone forceful, he emphasizes his words with a stomp to the ground. “I am your master. You will do what I say, and you will not disobey me.” Nooroo’s eyes blow wide again, and it opens its mouth to say something, but nothing comes out of its mouth. It is unable to say anything. In it’s eyes, terror is clear. Dejectedly, Nooroo bows it’s head and body. “Yes, Master.”

This brings the man even more sickening joy.

“Nooroo, we will find those Miraculous.” Then man takes a step forward and lifts Nooroo’s chin up. “And we will do it by any means necessary.”

He takes a step back and fastens the broach to his shirt.

“Nooroo, dark wings, rise.”

Nooroo is sucked into the broach and violet light rushes up the man’s body, transforming his clothes. When the light dies down, the man is wearing black, skin tight, laceless dress shoes. Purple, almost skintight pants. He’s wearing a purple suit jacket and black latex-like gloves. The collar folds up at the front like a paper airplane, the broach sitting in the middle, two black, shimmering, almost rubber like lapels that start just below the paper airplane collar, form around it and go up to protrude from off the shoulders about 25 centimeters. His neck and face, save for the area around his mouth, is covered by a silver material. His eyes are violet.

“From now on...” he looks at the big metal, circular window cover, his violet eyes glistening with malice. “I will be known as Hawkmoth!”

--------

Sleeping in the brass horn of the fake record player that houses the miracle box is a small green creature, with a head much larger than the rest of his body, who looks like a miniature turtle. His body is a light-ish green, with patches of darker green. His head has some subtle scales, but is mostly smooth. Its abdomen, and the back of his arms and legs are covered in dark green scales. A turtle shell rests on his back.

Something startles Wayzz from his peaceful sleep in the fake record player’s bell, his eyes shooting open and revealing that they are completely yellow with dark green pupils. Something pulsates through the air, a powerful, corruptive wave of energy with a hint of something else behind it.

It’s... an old, familiar energy. It pulsates through the air again before dissipating slightly, then pulsating again. Like a heartbeat.

One that doesn’t bode well.

This energy... it’s from Nooroo... but... it’s tainted. It might just be from time apart, that could be why his energy feels... wrong.

Malicious. Cold.

Unwelcome...

But... it could also be something else... something far more terrible than someone accidentally picking up and activating It’s Miraculous.

It’s an energy that accompanies An unwelcome wielder. It’s Nooroo’s distress call.

Wayzz bursts from the fake record player’s bell and into Master Fu’s side, jolting him, stilling his fingers on his patient’s back.

The little old man, wearing a red Hawaiian t-shirt, grey slacks and brown sandals, turns to the little green kwami.

“What is it?” He whispers, his fingers returning to work at the young man’s back.

“Master! I felt an odd energy.”

Master Fu pauses in his work again, furrowing his brows in thought. After another second’s deliberation, he tells Wayzz to hide, then quickly ushers his patient out the door, promising to see him next week.

With the door closed, he turns back to his kwami. “What kind of energy?” His tone is solemn and wary.

“Master, it was Noroo’s. It was Nooroo’s distress call. It’s in trouble!”

The old master’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth hanging open for a second before he sets it into a hard line. “Very well then, Wayzz. We must find him at once!”

Wayzz winces for a split second, human’s have never understood how one can be referred to by pronouns other than he/him, or she/her, and the Master doesn’t seem to catch on to Wayzz calling Nooroo by It’s preferred pronouns. But Wayzz refuses to not use It’s preferred pronouns. He would never do that to his friend.

The old master stands up straight, holding up his right wrist, his other hand bracing it. “Time to transform... Wayzz-“

‘Crack!’

“Augh, oh...” Master Fu groans as he falls to the ground, muted groans escaping his throat.

“Master, please be reasonable! You are-“

“Still young!” Fu cuts in, “ I’m only 186!...” he grunts as he stands back up. “but I can no longer do this alone... we will need help.”

He walks over to the fake record player, and Wayzz looks away as Master Fu puts in the code to open up the record player.

Within seconds, the middle slides open, and a black box with red, ornate, ancient Chinese characters on it is lifted from the cavity in the record player.

Before he opens the box, he looks to Wayzz; the kwami has been with him for most of his life... they’ve been through a lot together. So, Wayzz is certain that they surely think the same thing.

Allowing those Miraculous to be out in the open, even if it is just to recover Nooroo from its captor, it’s incredibly risky. But... Wayzz has a certain feeling about this, it may be a risky move, but it feels like the right one. If they are to recover Nooroo, and if It’s had Its powers abused by a corrupted heart, they will need to cleanse and balance it’s Miraculous; and only those of Creation and Destruction can do so. As Fu takes out those two Miraculous, Wayzz nods his agreement. Hopefully... hopefully this doesn’t go wrong.

-----------

For the next few days, Fu looks for two people who fit the parameters for these two Miraculous. They need to be kind, and selfless... those two traits aren’t too hard to find. But for the Miraculous of Creation, he needs to find someone who has the mind to handle the complexity, the heart to consider the options, the soul to value everyone, the body to meet the physical requirements and the energy to withstand it all.

They need to be of the right age too, for if they are too young, their mind could snap, their heart could burst, their soul could be irreparably damaged, their body could shrivel… just like his did when he was a boy.

Finding someone who meets all these requirements is grueling, but it’s the only way to make sure they don’t face life long detriments.

Fu finds himself in a bakery, looking over everyone he can see as he simultaneously looks for what pastry to get for himself. The people he finds don’t fit what this Miraculous needs, and he gets no reaction from the box containing the being who embodies Creation itself. He is about to give up on his search for a suitable wielder for Tikki when a feeling of warmth pulsates through his body, emanating from the box Tikki’s Miraculous resides in.

He looks up, and is greeted with the sight of the baker’s daughter, a young girl with black hair, Asian features, and beautiful grey eyes. She talks animatedly with the customers, smiling so brightly and with such warmth in her eyes, she makes it seem like she makes friends with everyone she meets.

But she’s too young, she doesn’t look to be more that 14 years old, he will not put the stress of being the wielder of Creation on a child. His body was crippled when he wore his Miraculous when he was too young, and his Miraculous is substantially less powerful than Creation. He will not the the reason for the death of a child.

He moves on.

But Tikki is insistent, if the way the box burns in his pocket is any indication.

Reluctantly, he turns to his kwami companion, Wayzz, and nods to him, making a mental note to have Wayzz watch this girl. He can only hope that he finds someone better suited for Creation.

When out of the bakery, Wayzz whispers in his ear, “Are you sure giving a Miraculous — especially one of such magnitude — to a child is a good idea?”

Fu pulls out and bites into a pastry, his facial features dark. “I do not know, my friend. I refuse to give a Miraculous to someone so young, especially one that is so powerful. However, Tikki is insisting on this girl. I hope to find someone who is suited for Tikki, and is older, but we must be prepared for the event that we have to give this girl this responsibility.”

Wayzz sighs, “Alright, Master.”

--------------

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery — those pastries are to die for! — but he’s in a sour mood. He hasn’t been able to get Tikki to react to any other person, she is insistent on this bakery girl. He’s keeping an eye out for someone else, but he’s starting to believe he has no other choice.

Just as he rounds the corner, the box that houses the Black Cat Miraculous of Destruction sends a chilling wave of energy through Fu’s body, and he stops in his tracks. Plagg has sensed someone he wants to choose. Fu starts looking around, going through all the parameters the wielder of Destruction needs to have: They need to have a mind strong enough to resist temptation, a heart kind enough to give mercy to those around them, a soul to see the good and bad, a body to withstand the effects the Miraculous of Destruction has on wielders, and the ability to rein in Plagg’s energy.

Everyone he looks at is wrong, and they incite no reaction from Plagg, but then he sees a young man with blond hair, green eyes, and fair skin in the park. He’s sitting on a bench, looking crestfallen. To his right, cameras and photographers are setting up around him. There are other children playing at the park, and the young man is staring at them with a longing gaze.

The hope in Fu’s eyes dies down as he realizes that Plagg’s chosen is one that is, once again, too young,

He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to put them through this, but if Tikki won’t change her mind, Plagg most definitely wont.

Resigned, Fu turns around and starts going to the bakery, making a note to look into this boy. He looks up and finds himself looking at a poster advertisement for Agreste Fashion, and the boy he was just looking at is on it.

It seems finding information on this boy will not be as hard as he thought.

-------------

As he continues to watch the bakery girl, he sees just how kind and selfless she is. She routinely offers help in the bakery as often as she can. She lights up talking to customers about fashion — apparently, she’s quite fond of fashion, especially the Agreste brand, how fascinating — how she lifts full bags of flour with only a few grunts and wobbles here and there. Fu’s found that she created the design for the bakery sign. As well as the menu board. She is truly creative. And, if his hearing does not fail him, she even bakes some of the pastries from time to time.

Tikki grows more and more insistent on choosing this girl, and Fu has resigned himself to the fact that he will be putting them through things he never wished to put anyone through again. If he is going to give her the Miraculous of Creation, he must be there to mentor her. He must be able to guide her through all of this. Hopefully she can handle this and he isn’t sending her to her death.

Now... the young man, the child model... he wasn’t quite sure at first, and he was getting ready to have a long argument with Plagg. He just seemed to be a boy longing for the time to play with others. But, as he continued to pursue knowledge about this boy -- his name being Adrien -- he’s found that he is praised for his kindness, and he’s seen that in video recordings of interviews with the boy. Wayzz has told him that when he has photoshoots at the park, when he sees kids fall down, he twitches almost imperceptibly. As though he wants to go over and pick them up. And when he watches parents with their difficult kids, he seems to want nothing more than to help.

Fu has seen the way he smiles at his bodyguard, at his scheduler, the photographers, the other models, it seems to be completely genuine.

He harbors a heart that wants to do good, that wants to do nothing but help, his soul longs for the freedom to be selfless, but it is unable to. And Plagg has latched onto this boy.

He must be able to guide these two young people. He must not allow them to go through this alone.

Late at night in his apartment, Fu sits before two small pieces of paper on his kitchen table, writing two identical notes to put in the boxes containing the Black Cat Miraculous and the Ladybug Miraculous.

They are to meet him at the base of the Effiel Tower at 22:00, but in order for this to work, he must give them the miraculous at the same time, which means he must execute his challenges before it is too late.

Suddenly, Wayzz flies up to his face and bows before speaking. “Master! I just sensed Nooroo transform Its captor! It was powerful, whoever has Nooroo is powerful.”

Fu stops writing and strokes his goatee. If he remembers correctly, the first day of the French school year is in three, almost two days. This means that he doesn’t have much time to issue his challenges to these kids, and even less time to train them. He must act now. “Thank you, Wayzz, we must act soon, before it is too late!”

Fu finishes writing the notes and places them on top of the boxes containing the Miraculous of Destruction and Creation, before he goes to bed.

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery. He doesn’t know how to issue his challenge, but it will come to mind eventually. It is the day before the first day of school, and there will be no lack of heightened emotions, and paired with the power that Nooroo has over emotions, who knows when Nooroo’s captor will strike?

Suddenly, Adrien bursts through the bushes, sprinting his way to the school. He has a pleased smile on his face, and hope in his eyes. He reaches the school, and stops, looking up at it, sighing in admiration.

A car passes by, Adrien whips around, looking at the car, but finds that it is not something he needs to worry about. He relaxes and starts to open the door to the school when three kids burst from the nearby park and speed their way on bikes across the street toward a nearby intersection. He looks at these kids, furrowing his brows.

Then, a rumbling sounds, Adrien whips around to look, and there is a car coming down their way. And, by the looks of things, the car isn’t slowing down, and neither are the kids.

Fu waits in silence as Adrien seems more confused than ever, looking between the car and the kids, taking a few steps from the school toward the intersection. When it is evident that neither the kids nor the car will stop on their own, he takes action, rushing forward and waving his arms.

Two of the kids look at him, then at the car coming down the road, and as though it is their first time seeing it, they skid to a stop. But the kid in the middle, a girl with pink hair keeps going, her head turned toward the two kids who stopped, hair whipping around under her helmet. She seems to glare at them and then at the oncoming car.

Adrien seems to sigh, looking frantically between the rapidly approaching kid and car.

He looks back to the pink haired girl, and sets his jaw. Clearly set on a course of action. He takes a few long steps toward the street just as she comes by and grabs her arm, forcing her to fall from her bike, but the bike continues onward into the street.

Where it promptly gets crushed by the car, while the driver looks up from their phone and honks as they drive away.

As the pink haired girl sits there shocked, Adrien stands there awkwardly. But, after a second, the girl stands up and punches Adrien’s arm before seemingly telling him off. All Adrien does is furrow his brows, confused.

Fu walks away with a small smile.

He has a feeling this might actually work out well.

--------------

An alarm jerks Marinette awake from her dreamless sleep. With a groan, she blindly gropes around her bed to find her phone, but when she finds it, she only manages to push it from her bed down onto the floor.

The alarm doesn’t stop, and Marinette can’t decide if she should be relieved, or annoyed.

With a resigned sigh, she slips from her bed, mourning the lost warmth of her covers, and climbs down her ladder. She picks up her phone and inspects it for cracks.

Somehow, for some reason, it doesn’t have any. Thank the beings that rule the universe, her phone is indestructible! She doesn’t know how many times she’s dropped her phone, but it doesn’t even have a scratch!

Sluggishly, she goes to her closet, trying to decide on what to wear, looking over everything and battling that feeling of unease she feels every time she looks in her closest; but ultimately decides to put it aside, she’ll just eat breakfast in her pajamas.

She doesn’t even want to look at her messy, black hair, her body, the bags that are surely to be under her eyes. She’s always loved her eyes, her Maman is from China and has grey eyes, while her Papa grew up locally in Paris with blue eyes; but her eyes are amazing, they’re grey with a ring of blue around the pupil. She can’t help but think of her parents when she looks into her eyes. She doesn’t have as much Asian features as she would like, but she has her eyes, her black hair, and a slight Asian facial bone structure.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes she starts going downstairs, not really wanting to face the day. Not wanting to fight to feel good.

It’s the first day of school. The first day of Collége. And, for some reason, Marinette has a strong feeling that Chloé Bourgeois is in her class again.

One would think that the spoiled brat that is the daughter of the Mayor would be in private school. But, for some reason unknown to all but the two Bourgeois and the beings that rule the universe, she still attends public school; despite all of her complaining. And the bullying.

She really, really does not want school to start.

With a big yawn, she opens the trap door.

“Marinette! School starts soon! You don’t want to be late for your first day back at school!”

Wincing from the early morning yelling, Marinette suppresses another yawn, calling out a small “Coming...” before climbing down the stairs.

When she reaches the bottom, she finds her Maman smiling at her from the kitchen. She smiles back, already feeling the grasp of sleep start to slip away. “There’s my beautiful girl!”

Despite the warmth that fills her being when around her Maman, Marinette can’t help but feel uneasy with being called beautiful. It’s probably because of Chloe bullying her, she’ll get over it.

She gives her maman a kiss on the cheek, leaning down just a bit. When she was younger, she wondered why she was taller than her maman. But, after an awkward talk with her parents, she’s realized that she just inherited the taller genes from her Papa, but got the skinnier genes from her Maman.

“Good morning!”

“Yeah...” she grumps, “I’ll bet you anything that Chloé is in my class again...” she sighs as she sits down at the kitchen table, where her Maman has already set out a cereal bowl, a milk jug, spoon, her favorite cereal, and a bowl of fruit. Uncapping the milk jug, she pours it into the bowl.

“Four years in a row?! Is that possible?” Her Maman exclaims, putting something in the sink behind her.

“Definitely... Lucky me!” Marinette rolls her eyes, pouring in some chocolate cereal flakes.

“Oh! Don’t say that! It’s the start of a new year, I’m sure everything will be just fine!” Her Maman says resolutely, brushing a hand against her hair. And who can argue with such sound logic? Not Marinette.

Nodding, feeling her spirits rise just a bit, she places the tub of cereal flakes down. But, with just a slight miscalculation of how hard to set it down, a chain reaction of terrible, ill boding events happens.

The vibrations send an orange rolling down a conveniently placed bread stick, right to and over another conveniently placed knife. Which then sends the orange into the milk jug, the knife into a bowl of sugar cubes; sending a few flying with such velocity that as it collides with the cereal tub, it tips it over. And, as her spirits plummet, the orange completes its journey by knocking into and tipping over a yogurt cup. She groans dejectedly, closing her eyes so as to block the situation from sight and in turn, her mind.

For a girl whose parents have always called their “lucky charm”, she sure isn’t all that lucky.

As she cleans up the cereal tub mess, her Maman reaches a hand to her cheek, chuckling. Which, somehow, helps to lift her own spirits.

It’s weird how mothers can do that. “Go get dressed, honey, you’ll look beautiful. I’ve got this.”

An hour later, Marinette is down in the bakery, dressed in her back-to-school-day clothes: tan/pink flats, pink Capris, white shirt with a flower pattern on her left collarbone, grey blazer and her very own, hand sewn, pink clutch. And yet, despite being proud of her work, she can’t find it in her to be proud of how she looks.

Her Papa, humming a tune, presents a box of macarons to his daughter. A warm, gentle smile on his face: “There’s my gorgeous daughter!” There’s that uneasiness again...

“Papa! These are so awesome!” She exclaims, bouncing in place. “Thank you, Papa! My class will love them!” She looks up to him, adoration and love filling her eyes.

“Glad you like them!” He ruffles her hair, chuckling as she smirks a bit under his huge hands, an almost mute “don’t mess up my hair!” coming from her.

“You look beautiful, my darling daughter” Her papa says with small tears in his eyes.

“You’re the best!” she says, giving him a one armed hug, her smile falling as she tries to figure out how to get rid of the uneasy feeling in her gut.

“We,” he pulls her close again with an arm, and angles his other in a ‘muscular, show-off’ manner, “are the best.” Marinette can’t help but giggle.

Giving both her parents goodbye kisses, she rushes out the door, intent on not being late for school on the first day. And, in her haste, almost rushes right into the path of an oncoming car.

Breathing a sigh of relief that she isn’t splattered on the windshield of a car, she slouches a bit, before jolting ramrod straight as she sees an elderly man with a cane in a red hawiian shirt having trouble crossing the road, another car rushing toward the man, not slowing down at all.

Marinette frantically looks back and forth between the two and decides, after a second, to rush out and save this man from meeting the very same fate she had just narrowly avoided moments before.

Just as she pulls him to the sidewalk, her legendary clumsiness takes hold of her once more, and she trips onto the sidewalk, taking the man down with her; the box of macarons spilling. And, with horror, she watches as inconsiderate city people step on them, reducing them to nothing more than crumbs. The man’s “Thank you, miss” goes unheard.

But, his “Oh, what a disaster” does not go unnoticed. Picking up what remains of the box and the macaroons, she tells him: “Don’t worry, I’m no stranger to disasters.” She holds the box to him. “Besides! There’s still a few left.”

She smiles at this man, as he picks a macaron from the box and bites into it. Letting out a pleased “Delicious!”

A bell across the street rings, signaling the start of school. Marinette looks to the school, to this man, back to the school and back to him again. While she’d rather not be late to school... well, she had just pulled this man from the street. The least she can do is walk him partially to where he is headed.

“Go ahead.” The man says, his smile genuine, understanding and proud. ”You’ve saved my life, the least I can do is save you from getting into trouble! Now go!” He waves her off.

She takes a moment of further deliberation before nodding, bowing, and rushing out “have-a-nice-day-sir!” Then she’s off, rushing to school.

----------------

As the young woman runs to the school, Master Fu straightens up, putting his cane behind his back and holding up the box containing the Ladybug Miraculous. The box warms up and spreads warmth all throughout his body, confirming that this young woman is Tikki’s choice to be her wielder.

While he doesn’t want to put this stress on a child, he knows that there is no other solution, no way around this. He just has to be her mentor.

He walks to the bakery, allowing Wayzz to take the box to the girl’s room while he buys pastries for himself and his companion.

-----------------

Just as the custodian is closing the school’s front doors, Marinette slips in, not breaking from her near sprint. Rushing up the stairs, she bursts into the classroom, stumbling to not lose her balance. She’s hunched over, trying to catch her breath.

“Nino,” the teacher calls out. She’s a tall woman with fire red hair, teal eyes, and a white pantsuit. Marinette doesn’t recognize her. The boy in question, Nino, has been in her classes for as long as she can remember. He’s a kind hearted, introverted kid with dark skin. He’s always wearing a red baseball cap and grey and orange headphones.

She looks up and sees that Nino is sitting with his eyes wide behind his glasses from the back of the classroom. “Why don’t you sit in the front this year?” The teacher may have formed it as a question, but it was more of a polite command.

Nino grumbles and stands up, his back and shoulders slouched. As he walks to the front of the classroom, on the side closest to the door, he groans. Before sliding into his position in the front of the classroom, right by the door. He pulls his headphones down and rests his elbows on the desk; his jaw resting on his knuckles with an annoyed look on his face.

Though she’s been in the same class as Nino for years, she doesn’t know much about him, and she’s really regretting that now. Maybe this year will be different?

She takes a moment to deliberate, but ultimately decides to sit on the row behind Nino, in her usual seat. She wants to sit by him but he doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone.

Shaking her head, still breathing with slight difficulty, she walks to her usual seat, the second row, left side of the classroom, right next to the aisle. Just behind and over Nino’s right shoulder.

Mylène, a timid girl, sits directly across the aisle from where Marinette’s seat is. She’s a shorter girl, with fair skin and long dreadlocks that are blonde at the roots but fade into multiple colors at the ends.

Sitting on the next row up, just to the right of Mylène, is a dark skinned boy with a close cut afro hairstyle brown hair, a green polo and glasses. Max is your go-to kid for anything and everything that has to do with electronics.

Sitting right next to Max is a tan skinned boy, Kim; he’s wearing a red, short sleeved hoodie, and sweat bands on his wrist. His black hair is up in a faux hawk style and he’s lounging back in his chair. He’s the class jock. (He tries to hide it by being a jerk and a goof, but he’s actually a good guy.)

Kim is always next to Max, tells everyone that they’re best friends, and that he needs Max to help with homework, but Marinette knows better. She can see his eyes.

On the back row, sitting behind Max, is a girl named Rose. She’s a quiet girl, with her blonde hair in a pixie cut. She wears all pink and has an incredibly high voice.

Just as Marinette sits down and starts to unpack, a pale hand, with yellow, perfectly manicured nails slams down on the desk before her, startling her. “Marinette,” the almost shill voice starts, “Du-pain-Cheng” it sneers her last name like it's an insult to it personally. (Which, if this is who she think it is, it most likely is an insult to her personally.)

Chloé Bourgeois. The bratty daughter of the mayor. She’s wearing a yellow jacket, white pants, and a large, gold (not actually gold, it’d be too heavy for her skinny, fragile hips to support) plated belt. No wrinkles in sight on her clothes. Her golden locks are pulled into a high hanging ponytail. Blush, eye liner, magenta eyeshadow and pink lipstick on her face. It only serves to make her look that much more bratty.

Her school bully.

Marinette slouches, she knew it would happen. A weary, dejected, “Here we go again...” leaves her lips.

“That’s my seat.” Chloé brings her hand from the desk to her chest.

“But Chloé, this has always been my seat.” Marinette looks up to Chloé, grey-blue meeting dark, cruel blue.

Chloe’s face scrunches up. “Not this year!”

A sudden, but not unfamiliar voice cuts in. “New School, New Year, New seats.” Sabrina, Chloé’s lap dog slides into the desk beside Marinette, her orange/red hair in stark contrast with her teal-green eyes sparkling behind her glasses, and pale skin. She’s wearing a, quite frankly, ugly sweater vest.

“So,” Chloé sneers again, “why don’t you just go and sit beside that new girl over there.” She turns to point at a girl she hadn’t seen walk into the room.

She has darker skin like Nino, with long, curly, red-orange locks. She’s wearing a red-orange flannel short-sleeved shirt. At the mention of “New girl” she turns from her phone and her brown eyes glare behind glasses at Chloé.

“But..” is all Marinette can think of in response. (She’s tired, and already feeling exhausted, she doesn’t want to move or think.)

Chloé turns back to Marinette, her hands on her hips, her face contorted in anger. “Listen, Adrien is arriving today, and since that’s,” she points to the seat beside Nino, “ going to be he— his seat, this is going to be my seat.” Chloé slams her hand down in front of Marinette again, then she turns toward her fully, slamming her other hand on the desk. “Get it?”

Adrien... who is this Adrien? And why is he friends with Chloé?

“Uh, who’s Adrien?” She asks Chloé.

Two simultaneous gasps leave Chloé’s and Sabrina’s mouths. Then they burst out laughing in that ridiculous, annoying laugh, drawing Myléne’s attention.

The laughing stops abruptly and Chloé speaks again. “Can you believe she doesn’t know who Adrien is?” She directs this at Sabrina. Then, to Marinette, Chloé scrunches her face in disgust and anger. “What rock have you been living under?”

“He’s only a famous model!” Sabrina chimes in.

“And I am his best friend.” Chloé begins again.

Marinette raises her eyebrows at this. None of that helps clarify who Adrien is. And, if he’s a famous model, why would any sane teacher let a man who is probably in his early/mid 20’s come to class with 14-15 year olds?! Why is a man who is in his mid 20’s still in middle school?!

“He adores me.” Chloé looks to Marinette, and scoffs when she sees that Marinette has not moved from her seat. “Uh, go on, move!” She emphasizes this with a thumb pointing toward the proposed seats.

And all Marinette can think of is, is this Choe’s new scheme to get attention? Who would believe that a 20 something year old is hanging out with a 14 year old? They’d be all over the news.

Suddenly, the new girl is behind Chloé, her voice strong and brave. A fatal mistake when talking to Chloé Bourgeois. “Back off, Brat.”

Chloé turns to the girl, anger and annoyance taking the wheel. She leans toward the new girl, making sure her tone is mocking and sarcastic. “Ooh, look, Sabrina, we got a little do-gooder in our classroom!” Chloé leans in further. “What’re you going to do, Super Newbie, shoot beams at me with your glasses.”

Marinette cringes, this is why it is best to stay docile around Chloé, if she senses any opposition at all, she’ll only cause a scene.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The new girl sneers, her voice dark and dangerous. She pushes Chloé to the side and reaches for Marinette’s arm. “C’mon” she says as she grabs Marinette’s arm. Marinette barely has any time to grab her box of macarons and her bag before she’s being dragged from her seat.

In her haste to steady herself, grab her stuff, and the new girl’s quick pace, Marinette misses a step on the way to her new seat and ends up falling; her box of macarons falling to the floor, where several are flung from the box and are crushed on the floor. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She mumbles as she cleans up and slides into her new seat for the year. Chloé’s and Sabrina’s laughing etching its way into her memory.

“Chill-ax, girl, no biggie!” The new girl says, eyeing Marinette as she’s hunched over her almost empty box of macaroons.

“Alright, has everyone found a seat?” The teacher asks the class as other kids file in, leaning her hands on the desk. The class speaking up behind them drowning out her voice.

Marinette straightens up and looks to the new girl, “But I so wish I could handle Chloé the way you do.” The new girl raises an eyebrow, a corner of her lips quirking up. Not threatening, or suspicious, but curious and slightly confused. She reaches for her phone and unlocks it.

“You mean the way Majestia does it.” The new girl pulls up an image of a woman in a skin tight, blue suit, her shoulders, hands and face uncovered. She wears a fire truck red, sleeveless jacket with a ruffled coat tail, two thick, golden, zigzagging lines run across the bust, stars above the lines. Boots of the same shade reach to about her mid calf, the tops lined with the same type of lines as the jacket. “She says: All that is necessary for the triumph of Evil, is for Good to do nothing.” The new girl says proudly.

She leans past Marinette, wrapping her left arm around her shoulders and pointing to Chloé with her right hand. “And that girl over there, is evil, and we,” she points to herself and Marinette, “are the good people. She has a smirk on her lips. “We can’t let her get away with it!”

“That’s easier said than done...” Marinette hunches her shoulders a bit, her voice dejected. “She likes to make my life miserable.”

“That’s easy to fix, girl, you just need more confidence!” The new girl says, conviction strong in her voice.

Marinette smiles, and takes the last remaining macaron and breaks it in half, extending the other out to the new girl.

“Marinette.” she says.

“Alya,” the new girl says in response, taking the half macaron.

With this, they turn to the front, pleased smiles on their faces.

Maybe... maybe this year isn’t going to be so bad?

--------------------------

“For those of you who don’t yet know me,” the teacher says, drawing all attention her way, “I’m Ms. Bustier.”

As class starts, Chloé leans on her new desk, sadness in her face and eyes. Looking at the empty seat before her. “Ugh, he should have been here by now.” she says under her breath.

She meant to have annoyance in her tone, and she does, but she can’t hide the underlying disappointment.

Where is s— he?

-------------------------

Master Fu watches as Adrien rushes through the street, pressing against the bushes and trees, looking over his shoulder frequently, searching for something or someone.

Fu smiles, it seems like this young man has decided to try to get some freedom. But, if the frantic look in his eyes means anything, it’ll most likely be short lived.

The young man reaches the school grounds, and pauses next to a cologne ad poster that, coincidentally, has him on it. He looks over his shoulder again, and a smile finds his way into his face. He’s beaten the system, it would seem. For the time being.

This is Fu’s chance to issue his Challenge, to see if he has the ability to wield the Miraculous of Destruction. He has the potential, when faced with no other option, but this will test whether he will choose to help others and not himself. To do what he feels is right, and forfeit what he wants.

Just as Adrien reaches the steps, Fu launches his plan, clutching his back and falling to the ground, dropping his cane just out of his reach. Crying out in pain.

This causes the boy pause, and he stands on the steps of the school, frozen in place. Trying to figure out what to do, looking between Fu and the school’s front door.

Not a second later, he rushes to Fu, bringing his cane to his hands and helping him stand.

“Thank you, young man!” He says, patting his arm. Adrien’s eyes cringe and he tenses before his entire face lights up.

Huh, interesting...

“Do you need help getting to where you’re going?” He asks, his green eyes hopeful. No doubt wanting to help out more. If only so he could get further away from whoever he’s running from.

“No, I will be fine, but thank you for your kindness! Now, shoo, go to school!”

Adrien nods, the mention of school making his face light up even more.

He turns and rushes to the steps, and, just before he reaches the door, a silver sedan screeches to a stop, a tall woman clad in a purple suit and red blouse, her black hair fading to red on the left side. “Adrien, please reconsider! You know what your father wants!”

She walks slowly toward Adrien, as a large man steps out from the driver's seat, walking toward him with her. Adrien turns slowly toward them, his feet frozen in place, fear in his eyes. But only for a brief moment.

“But this is what I want!” He says, the fear taking a back seat to hurt and anger. “I’m sick of being stuck at home. I want to be like a normal kid!”

The woman shakes her head. “Adrien, you are not a normal kid, your father can’t afford to have you at public school!”

Adrien scoffs, “We both know he has more than enough money to afford it.”

“That’s not what I mean, Adrien. You know he only does this to keep you safe. He’s doing this for you.”

At this, Adrien’s eyes soften, his posture drooping. “I know... I just... I want to be around others. Please don’t tell Father about this.”

The woman’s eyes soften as she puts a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “I know, and I’m sorry. But you just can’t. Come, let’s go home.”

As Adrien is led to the sedan, and is driven off back home, the second box pulsates in Fu’s pocket.

This boy has the traits that are required for the use of this Miraculous, but he does not have the right life for it. Fu is unsure whether Adrien can handle it. Plagg seems set on this boy, however. And, if Adrien is going to learn and grow, there is only one other Miraculous that will do just as good a job, and he’s already found a match for Creation.

He’ll just have to watch out for Plagg. With that, Fu swings his cane onto his shoulder and walks away whistling, following the sedan.

-------------------------

“Those of you who have P.E., Mr. D’Argencourt is expecting you at the stadium.” Ms. Bustier calls to the class as the bell rings and everyone packs up.

As the kid named Ivan, A large, fair skinned boy, with short brown hair save for the small tuft of blond in the front, gets up Kim gives him a note.

“The rest of you can head over to the library.”

A moment later, Ivan bursts out with an angry cry of “Kim!” He lurches toward Kim, an impish smirk on the lankier boy’s face. Ivan is cranking his fist back to slam it into Kim’s fragile face.

“Ivan! What are you doing?!” Ms. Bustier exclaims, leaning over her desk in shock. Ivan looks to her in confusion, lowering his fist.

“It’s Kim!” Ivan looks back at Kim, raising his fist again, and, for the first time, Kim is shocked and scared. “I’m so gonna—“

“Ivan! Go to the principal’s office!” Ms. Bustier cuts in, pointing out the door.

At that, Ivan steps away from Kim, growling as he looks back down at the note Kim passed him. With anger rolling off him, Ivan crumples the note in his hand and storms out of the classroom, muttering to himself; leaving Kim to shake in his seat, and Ms. Bustier to wonder if she could have worked the situation out better.

----------------------

The man known as Hawkmoth stands in a large room, a metal, circular window cover sliding open, letting light pour into the room, sending pure white butterflies fluttering about.

“Such powerful emotions. Anger. Frustration. Betrayal. And in a school no less, a perfect catalyst to test my limits.” He reaches for a butterfly, and clasps his hands around it. A second later, dark, purple energy seeps into the butterfly, and when he releases the butterfly, it is black with purple cracking apart the black, a violet mask-like pattern on it’s head and back, its legs a dark purple. “Burn a hole into his heart, little akuma, transform his anger into something more!”

The transformed butterfly, now an akuma, flies through the air, tracking down the boy with such anger and frustration with supernatural speed.

---------------------

Ivan opens the door to the principal’s office, but before he can take a step inside, the principal stops him.

“Excuse me, young man! Hasn’t anyone taught you to knock?” The principle, a large, overweight, white man with a receding hairline and greying hair exclaims. This shocks Ivan, his anger and frustration building. “Go on, go again.” He says, leaning back in his decked out, rolling swivel chair.

With a shake of his head and a growl, Ivan closes the door and turns around, raising a fist to knock.

Before he can put his fist to the wood, something stops him. A sound. The sound of something wet twisting and crawling. And suddenly, in his mind, there is a man floating in a grey space, his voice echoing all around his head. The principal’s “Go on, knock!” is ignored.

The man before Ivan is wearing a dark purple suit, and it shines in a way cloth doesn’t, kind of like rubber. On his chest are two black wing like lapels, which just make whoever this guy is look weird. Covering his head is a grey mask, only his eyes, which are an unsettling violet, and mouth looking normal. He’s leaning on a cane.

“Stoneheart.” the man says Ivan’s confusion at the name going unacknowledged. “I am Hawkmoth, I am giving you the strength and unstoppable power to seek revenge on those who have wronged you. To prove to them that you do have what it takes. All I need you to do is cause mayhem. Destroy all that you can.”

The power to get back at Kim? To prove that he does have what it takes?

And all he needs to do is cause mayhem?

Who can deny such a thing?

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Ivan says, a dark look on his face.

The man smirks.

Black and purple bubbles ripple over Ivan’s body, morphing his skin and bones.

When the bubbles disperse, Ivan is no more. Only Stoneheart remains. Standing at 2 meters tall, with cracked stone for skin and yellow eyes. He’s built like an athlete, and literally chiseled. Wrapped around his right hand is a purple fabric, like that a boxer would wear under their boxing glove. On his chest, the stone is jagged and protruding, right where his heart would be, like his heart had exploded. The cracks in the stone glow a faint yellow.

“Well?” The principal asks, waiting for a response.

Suddenly, the door is flung from its hinges, the principal only has enough time to move enough so that the door doesn’t slam into his head, but it still collides with his shoulder, sending him to the ground.

With an almighty roar, Stoneheart launches through the window, leaving an echo of “KIM!” behind as the entire wall crumbles to the street below.

-----------------------

In the library, a thunderous roar rattles the walls, then the whole building shakes, causing students to tumble to the ground.

After a few seconds, Alya, Marinette’s new friend, grabs her from the ground and drags her to the TVs in the library, which are showing the security footage.

A large, probably 2 meters tall, stone golem is walking down the street, the cracks in it’s stone skin glowing bright yellow. It roars in a voice so raspy and stiff, she wonders if it has vocal chords, and if so, how they’re working.

“Wh-what’s going on? I thought it was an earthquake!” a random kid exclaims.

Alya turns to Marinette, her hands on her cheeks. “It’s a real life super villain!” Suddenly, Alya’s eyes glint and she pulls out her phone. “Battery, 80%, check! GPS, check! I am so outta here!” Then she’s off, leaving Marinette to marvel at her.

“Wait! Hey, where’re you going?”

Alya pauses only briefly before turning around and hopping backwards “Where there’s a super villain, there is always a superhero!” Then she’s through the doors.

This is such a weird day...

Marinette looks back to the tv and jumps as the rock monster collides a car, the car crumbling and shattering. The yellow in the cracks of it’s skin glows brighter and- and she could have sworn it grew! It picks up what remains of the car with ease, and throws it at the school camera, and it goes to static. The building shakes again as crumbling brick and groaning metal reverberates through the school.

---------------------

Fu stops just outside the gates of a mansion. His eyes glinting with wonder and awe.

This should provide good living conditions for a being with such a high cost diet.

He hums in delight, letting Wayzz take the pulsating box up into the mansion.

-------------------

Adrienne *hates* homeschooling. She’s alone, save for Nathalie, and has to stay in one place for at least 7 hours, sometimes more, depending on the lesson. And, most of the time, she’s in the dining hall, the cold, undecorated dining hall. She’s stuck hearing her father, Nathalie, the mansion staff, call her ”Adrien”. Call her a boy. She can’t talk to anyone, can’t have a break. It’s useless.

“Who was the 1st president of the 5th French republic?” Nathalie walks up and down the length of the dining table. A tablet and pen in hand.

And all Adrienne can do is lean against her hand, not even able to summon more than a bored, monotone voice. “Everyone thinks it was De Gaulle but it was actually René Coty before the first elections.”

“Excellent, Adrien!” Nathalie exclaims. Turning around, a… pleased look on her face? ‘When did that happen?!’ Adrienne can’t help but think in shock. She opens her mouth to say something but a cold voice cuts through the room.

“Give me a minute would you, Nathalie?” Adrienne immediately tenses. It’s an involuntary reaction she has no control over. Not anymore.

Her Father turns to look at Adrienne, his eyes cold, disappointed, disproving. Angry. But his face remains stoic. “You are not going to school. I have already told you.”

Adrienne’s heart sinks. She looks to Nathalie, her eyes burning. She betrayed her. She- she does know what happens when she disobeys her Father, right?

Nathalie only lowers her head in shame.

Adrienne looks back to her father. “But, Father-“

“Everything you need is right here, where I can keep an eye on you.” He cuts in, tone dark and dangerous. “I will not have you outside in that dangerous world.”

“It’s not dangerous!” Adrienne tries, standing up from her seat, hands on the table. “I’m always stuck here by myself! Why can’t I go out and make friends just like everybody else?” She asks, pointing out the grand window to her left.

“Because you are not everybody else! You are My son” Adrienne flinches, her body flinching as her gut falls. She hates it when he sounds like that, it makes her feel so small. She has to bite her tongue to keep herself from shaking at her father’s deep, angry voice. He’s using the tone that suggests that he will not allow for any more words to be said.

Adrienne stands up straight, bowing her head, holding back tears that threaten to form.

Always her... it’s always Adrienne who makes things difficult. Who makes Father angry. All Adrienne does is antagonize him.

With that, Gabriel leaves, and Nathalie steps forward. “We can leave it there if you wan-“

Before she even finishes, Adrienne takes off running, hiding her— his face. Hiding his reddening eyes.

As he runs to his room, he catches a brief glimpse of a painting of him, his father and his mother.

But he can’t look at it for so long. It brings back too many bad memories.

Once in his room, he lays down on his bed, Letting his pillow soak in all the tears leaking from his— her eyes. From her eyes.

Why is Father like this? The thought bounces around in Adrienne’s head, it makes her dizzy. Why am I like this, if I’m really- if I’m really a girl, I wouldn’t revert to using those pronouns, to using “Adrien” when I’m stressed, would I? I wouldn’t do that when I anger Father, would I? How the hell am I a girl-

He doesn’t understand, Adrienne’s mother’s voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts. He probably never will. Your father is a stubborn man, and closed off in many ways. Just remember who you are, and that I’m here for you, my beautiful daughter.

This only makes Adrienne sadder. She isn’t here anymore. How can Adrienne keep going if she isn’t here?

Suddenly, something shakes the mansion, sounding like a stampede.

Curiosity takes over, and Adrienne takes off to go find out what’s happening.

She opens the front doors of the mansion, and a large (probably 4 meters tall) rock person is stomping its way toward a police blockade.

When the monster is within 10 meters, the police officer standing on top of a police car yells: “F-ire!” His voice cracks with fear and all the surrounding police officers fire off their guns.

The rock monster holds up it’s arms, but instead of the bullets doing any harm, they make the cracks in between the monster’s skin glow brighter, and it grows to be 2 meters taller! The police officer that was on the car scrambles down and tries to get away, but the monster grabs the car the officer was previously standing on with one hand, shouts out an unintelligible word, then throws the car with ease at the police officer; who only just barely manages to get out of the way.

Whatever this thing is, they sure are very, very angry.

Adrienne sprints back to her room, and vaults over her sofa, turning on the TV to the news.

“I’m asking all Parisians to stay inside until the situation’s under control.” Mayor Bourgeois says into the microphone, and Adrienne lets out a snort. Having everyone stay inside is the right call, don’t want anyone getting in the way... but, the man would be more than happy if he were the only one that stayed inside. And with the way that the situation is being handled, it isn’t going to be solved any time soon.

Then it switches to the TVi news station, where Nadja Chamack reports. “As incredible as it seems, it has been confirmed that Paris is, indeed, being attacked by a monster. The police have been struggling to get the situation under control.” Up in the right corner, a camera still reports what the monster is doing. Which, by the looks of it, is picking up cars and throwing them at buildings, trees, and other cars, destroying buildings and otherwise just causing mayhem, carnage and... and death.

It switches to another news camera, and it shows the police officer that was on the car in front of the gates, he’s getting his arm bandaged by a firefighter, speaking to an interviewer. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from the officer’s broken arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” the officer mumbles.

Blinking and shaking her head, Adrienne looks away, trying not to be too ashamed of Paris’s police force. From the looks of things, this monster is absorbing kinetic energy and using it to grow stronger.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something catches her attention.

It’s a small box, with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize on it.

She diverts her full attention to this box, a confused: “What’s this doing here?” Leaving her lips.

She picks it up, weighing it in her hand, moving it around and shaking it. It makes no noise. Shrugging, she opens it and finds a folded piece of paper. When she picks up the paper, she catches sight of a black ring, the corners of the face have silver raised points.

Suddenly, a bright green light glints off the ring, and a ball of green light bursts from it, temporarily blinding her, making her drop the paper, and box.

When her vision returns, there is a small, black being laying down in the air. It has a body covered with smooth, black fur, with a slight green sheen to it. It has a puff of fur on both cheeks, with two long, black whiskers poking out of each puff. There are similar tufts of hair on the bendy points of its limbs and back where the limbs connect to it. It has an aura that surrounds it that makes everything seem darker around it. Light seems to bend around it, like a black hole. It has two long, thin, puffy tails. It has two little ears that are currently drooped lazily, and little wisps of hair poke out from the inside. It has a tiny nose and snout. It... looks like a small deformed cat. And is absolutely adorable!

Suddenly, it uprights itself, stretching its arms and legs, little claws extending from it’s limbs, and releases a huge yawn. Upon closer inspection, each limb ends with a little paw. Its mouth reveals tiny, tiny fangs and an emerald green hue on the inside of its mouth. It’s ears perk up. Once it’s done with the yawn, the ears drop down again, and it opens its eyes to reveal two neon green eyes with black, slitted pupils.

“No way!” Adrienne exclaims. “This is so cool! You’re like the genie in the lamp!” She reaches a finger up to rub the little cat-genie’s forehead.

The little cat-genie launches back. It’s eyes going wide, with…. fear? But the cat-genie quickly schools its adorable little face into calm, uninterested, unimpressed neutrality.

“I met him once, so he grants wishes, big deal, I can do so much better and I'm personable!” The cat-genie crosses its nubs over its chest, claws extending slightly, spreading its leg nubs, like it’s pouting. Clearly trying to look intimidating, but Adrienne can see that it’s trying to gauge her reactions.

Huh, so the cat-genie speaks... it... it’s awfully squeaky and nasal.

It looks up to Adrienne, its eyes piercing into her soul. “Plagg, nice to meet ya.”

With the one sided greetings out of the way, The cat-genie known as Plagg zooms into a swirl before zipping off to explore the room, startling Adrienne some.

It lands on the foosball table, “Ooo, swanky!” Then it chomps down on a figure’s head, ignoring Adrienne’s “Don’t touch that!” by saying “Nope, not eatable.”

Just as Adrienne is about to grab Plagg, it takes off again, Adrienne’s ”Hey! Get back here!” going unnoticed as it locks eyes on an arcade’s joystick. “It’s so shiny!” Plagg lands on the joystick, uttering a curious “Can you eat this?” Before clamping its mouth down on the joystick ball.

Plagg turns away from it in disgust as it finds that it cannot, in fact, eat the joystick. “No, you can’t.” It says slightly dejectedly, then locks into something else and zooms away from Adrienne’s hand, leaving behind an excited “Ooh, what about this?”

----------------------------------

Marinette hates back to school days. She makes sure to tell her computer screen just that as she watches the news.

At the moment, Sabrina’s father is talking to a news reporter, having his arm wrapped up by a firefighter. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from Officer Roger’s arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” he mumbles.

Marinette shakes her head. Officer Roger can be a... a special type of person sometimes.

She glances down to her mouse to click away from the news station, but finds a black box with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize.

Picking it up, she opens it, and finds a folded up paper. When she removes it, she catches a glance of two red earrings with black spots on each stud before a bright red/pink light glints off of them and she is temporarily blinded.

When it fades, Marinette’s jaw drops. So does the box and paper.

Floating before her, with its head bowed, is a giant scarlet/pink, ladybug-like bug, with a head much larger than the rest of its body. It has two antennae coming from its forehead and droop toward its back. It has a large black dot on its forehead. On its back is a scarlet ladybug shell, with five small black spots. From this shell are some pink, translucent wings that aren’t moving. The light around it seems to be…. brighter. Its limbs are little, sectioned, black nubs.

Suddenly its head shoots up, the light glinting off it’s large white eyes that have rings of blue in the center.

“Haaweeelllp!” The word leaves her mouth in a shriek as she jumps back, tipping over her chair, getting as far away from this- this- this giant bug! “It’s a giant bug!...”

The bug, no not a bug, a mouse… “A mouse!”

No, a-a bug-mouse, “Bug-mouse!”

it slowly floats its way toward her.

It continues to get closer.

“A- an alien!” She almost shrieks.

“Everything’s okay! Don’t be scared!” Its voice is high pitched, super high pitched, and slightly squeaky.

Marinette’s terrified, she does the only sensible thing. She grabs something behind her and chucks it at the bug-mouse-alien, eyes going wide, and it dodges her projectile. “Bug-mouse can talk! Bug-mouse talks!” She continues to throw things at the bug-mouse-alien, her terror only growing as it continues to dodge all of her projectiles.

“Listen, Marinette...” the bug-mouse-alien continues to speak. “I know everything is strange...”

As it talks and gets closer, Marinette can’t help but release terrified squeaks and whimpers as she gropes around for something to trap the bug-mouse thing under.

Suddenly, her fingers find a cup, and delight shoots through her as she lunges at the bug-mouse, slamming the glass cup down around the little —giant?— thing. She absently wonders why the glass didn’t shatter.

It looks up at Marinette, its expression and eyes calm. “Okay, If this makes you feel safer.”

It has no qualms about being stuck?! What can this thing do that makes it so that it isn’t scared of being trapped under something?!

Marinette keeps the glass firmly on the ground. “What are you? How do you know my name?” She asks.

“I’m a kwami,” the bug-mouse puts a nub on its chest. “And my name is Tikki!” it perks up as it says it’s name. “Now, just let me explain.” Its voice is slightly muffled by the glass. It makes the bug -Tikki- sound even weirder.

“MAMAN, PAPA!” Marinette shouts, inching her way to her trap door.

“No, no, no!” Tikki tries to warn her, pressing against the glass, but Marinette still ignores it. She puts a hand on the trap door and Tikki calls out again. “No!” It tries again, pushing against the glass, but Marinette keeps ignoring it.

“MAMA-“

“Shhh, No!” Tikki cuts her off, phasing through the glass and floating in front of her face. “I’m your friend, Marinette, you can trust me.”

Marinette narrows her gaze,

“Marinette?” comes the worried voice of her Maman, and Tikki and Marinette stare at eachother in tense silence.

“...It’s nothing, Maman, sorry”

Marinette turns to Tikki, the talking bug-mouse-alien-- ahem, Kwami. “Explain.”

----------------------

In such a big room, filled with so much stuff, the kid doesn’t even have any food to eat! Plagg’s tried so many things. Still, nothing edible!

He could just use atrophy and siphon off some energy, but that requires effort, and he did not wake up from 250 years of being dormant only to have to do things as soon as he is activated!

Plagg is zipping around this human child’s room and finds a semi-promising rectangle. Hopefully this works!

He bites down, only for his fangs to meet hard, foul tasting material. Ugh, he should just Cataclysm this whole room...

He drops the remote, and raises a paw, but the human-child drops from the ceiling and wraps her feeble, insufficient, human fingers around his body, which does not make him release an embarrassing yelp. Nope, not at all. It’s funny, how the human thinks she can keep him in place with just her fingers wrapped around his body, which is made from the very essence of chaos, destruction, bad luck and most importantly, if he does say so himself, death!

...Eh, he’ll let the child have her victory.

“Listen, I still don’t know what you’re doing here.” The child says, her tone stern.

Ha! As if a human can intimidate him!

This is really getting old, he just wants sustenance! Even mushrooms will do! Birds and fish are better, but they taste weird. Cheese is preferable, and Camembert is exquisite.

“Look, I’m a kwami. Kwamis grant powers.” Plagg narrows his eyes at this, this uninformed child. “Basic gist of mine is Destruction. Got it?”

“Nuh-Uh.” The child shakes her head, her blonde locks swaying. The locks of hair that grab the light just right... that are probably super soft locks... Locks that would make for an amazing be—

Plagg shakes his head. No time to get distracted. He needs food.

“Good.”, He looks around before looking into the child’s eyes and not the attention grabbing hair that looks like such a great spot to sleep in. “Got anything to eat, I’m starving!”

The child narrows her eyes, staring at him. Plagg stares back, keeping his expression neutral.

“Father’s pranking me, right?” The child stands up, leaning her massive, disgustingly proportionate, head over him. Plagg looks away, he does not want to see up that nose, no matter how clean it is. It’s gross.

“Wait... that’s not possible, Father doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

Plagg pulls himself from the human’s surprisingly tight grasp, spreading his limbs out wide. No matter what he thinks of this rule, the last time he didn’t obey it, Tikki ignored him for 500 years and his wielder caused Vesuvius, all because Tikki’s wielder, by extension, also ignored him. “Your dad must never know I exist. Or anyone for that matter.”

Adrienne tilts her head. Furrowing her eyebrows. “Plagg, I’m pretty sure Father already knows other humans exist...”

Plagg raises his eyebrows. This kid might actually be fun to be around. “I meant no one else can know that I exist.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes more sense.”

“Anyway,” Plagg zips into the kids face. “Where. Is. The. Food?” The kid looks at him with the weirdest expression.

“I only get to eat at breakfast, lunch and dinner. No snacks.”

Plagg narrows his eyes. “That’s no way to live!”

“Well It’s how I live.”

Plagg drops his tone a bit. “It’s not a way that anyone should ever have to live.”

The kid’s eyes go wide

Plagg stares into her eyes, cocking his head. “Well, time to get this out of the way.” Plagg suddenly zips from in front of Adrienne, and into her bathroom. “I’m a kwami, and I can grant you the ability to destroy anything you touch!”

Plagg stops before a roll of paper, hanging above a , quite frankly disappointing, porcelain throne. He grabs and *nearly* lets out a delighted gasp. Such an amazing invention! He drops it to the ground before landing on it and it starts to unravel. FUN!

“All you need to do is put on the ring! To be able to do anything, you call out “Claws Out” and to activate your power, call out Cataclysm, you’ll be able to destroy anything you touch!” He explains as he runs around the room on this roll of super soft paper. (Well, actually the powers that he can grant are much more than a mere Catalclysm, but the kid isn’t ready for that yet. Plus, Tikki’d kill him if he were to tell her that.)

“I can do that?”

“Psssshhh, no, I can do that, I just allow you to be able to do that.”

“What do I say again?”

“Claws Out.”

“Claws out?”

The ring sucks Plagg in and he’s getting ready to meld with the kid. Create what she wants subconsciously. In a flash, he’s inside her mind and he’s ready to shape her body to the way it’s supposed to be, but stops. It would make her happy, but she isn‘t ready for anyone else to know yet, she’d have a break down. And, probably worse. So, he lets her mind create her suit in accordance to what she wants right now.

-----------------------

Looking in her mirror, Marinette puts on the earrings. “So, you’re saying, you can give me the power to…. create anything—“

“At random, you won't be able to choose it!”

“—and restore damage—“

“Only if you cast Lucky Charm! And it only restores damage dealt to people caused by a specific event that has happened recently.”

“Okay, so, you can transform me into a ladybug styled superhero, with increased physical and mental capabilities-“

“Mental only in the fact that you’ll be able to take in more information and take it in faster, other than that, it’s all you!”

“And I can create a random object by calling out Lucky Charm and restore damage dealt to living things caused by a specific event by calling out Miraculous Ladybug?”

“Yep!”

“And I can become this Ladybug by….”

“Calling out ‘Spots On” Tikki looks into Marinette’s eyes, he doesn’t know it yet, he hasn’t realized it yet.

Hopefully he will. She really doesn’t want Marinette to go through more of his life in unknown misery. Luckily, when the time comes, she can help!

“Spots On?”

“Wait I forgot—“

Melding with his mind, Tikki ignores the urge to shape Marinette’s body the way she knows he feels subconsciously like he should. He doesn’t know yet, and she doesn’t want to put that stress on him. But Sugar cookies she forgot to tell him about the ability to purify things! And that the way to take down this thing is to destroy the corrupted object, or that there is a corrupted object. Well, he’s her wielder, he’ll figure it out.

Technically Tikky can give her wielders so much more power, but this is the first time being her wielder, so she’ll have to ease Marinette into this.

[This is the image I used to base Nooroo’s, Tikki’s and Plagg’s designs on, I have also used it to alter Trixx’s, Wayzz’s, Pollen’s and Duusuu’s designs.]

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fan ficton #miraculous ladybug fic #trans girl! Adrienne #trans girl adrien #trans boy! marinette #trans boy! marin #trans au #wintertundra-art's trans au #miraculous ladybug rewrite #origins rewrite #rewrite au #some character descriptions have changed #powers reworked #my writing #part one of 3 #possibly 4 #nonbinary nooroo #it/its nooroo

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